


Dragon Plated

by PineappleSunrise



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M, First Impressions, Homesickness, Mages and Templars, Red Templars
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-17
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-05-21 06:40:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6041926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PineappleSunrise/pseuds/PineappleSunrise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regan Trevelyan is thrust into the spotlight. Her family always joked about her ambitions but she never wanted this. She seems calm and in control, but confidence doesn't always flow below the surface. She's doing her best to find her own voice amongst the chaos.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Armoured Gaze

Cullen couldn’t help but be dismayed as Regan Trevelyan walked into the war room at Haven. He wasn’t sure what he was hoping for, but he knew she wasn’t it. He tried his best not to sigh as he looked over her dragon armour and ornate matching daggers. They shone in an iridescent green-gold that matched the scale like metal work on her long dragon leather coat. The craftsmanship was exquisite. Finer than anything he had ever seen so close. The green citrine eyes of her dragon headed daggers seemed to follow him menacingly as he surveyed her. Normally he would have been impressed, appreciating the skill armour of this calibre would signify, but there was something he didn’t like about it. something that didn’t sit well.

New. That’s what it was. Everything about her looked new, unblemished and unready, ceremonial more than useful. Just like most nobles he’d seen. It was only when he looked up at her face that he realised he had been staring too long… awkwardly long. Trevelyan shook her head, with a hint of defiance, and stood up a little straighter. A flicker he could not place glinted in her eyes.

“May I present Commander Cullen, leader of the Inquisition’s forces.” Cassandra’s voice cut through the silence.

“Such as they are. We lost many soldiers in the valley, and I fear many more before this is through.”

He was trying to shock her, remind her, this was a real war. Real lives are at stake. It is not a game you can play at from a distance.

 

* * *

 

 

Regan knew the dance well, with introductions made to her, her response would be crucial. It had to be perfect. She had needed to prove herself. First impressions were critical.

“That’s an impressive bunch of titles.”

Her voice sounded clear and almost sunny but she grimaced slightly at the ineptitude of her reply. She had lost them, and she knew it. She had been stunned to be included in the discussions at all. It was not long ago that she was shackled in the dungeons, her life on the line waiting on an explanation she could not give. That’s why she had dressed in her best armour, even though she didn’t feel like herself in it.

The leather was still stiff from lack of use. Her matching daggers sat high upon her shoulders, higher than normal, drawing her shoulders back, forcing her stand to her full height. Regan wasn’t tall, but she knew an impression of height would give her a stronger projection of power. Little changes can reshape the world.

She had lost the Commander before she had even opened her mouth. She wasn’t sure when exactly, but she had seen him looking her over with distaste, making her bubble slightly with anger. Caught up in scolding herself she missed the conversation shift to whose help they should seek to close the breach. The tension rising so sharply she could feel it. As she was desperately thinking of something to say, anything that would calm the fire in the room, Josephine’s voice cut through with the cold calmness of reality. Arguing over whether to approach the mages or Templars was redundant if they weren’t powerful enough to be worth helping anyway.

More would have to be done to win over either side. Something Regan finally agreed with. Neither the mages or Templars would take on such a great risk for an upstart group with no political sway. There’s no point placing your bets before you have at least picked up your cards.

It was the Chantry denouncement that hurt her the most. Her family had always been proud loyal members, never shirking their duty.

 

* * *

 

“Just how am I the Herald of Andraste?” Regan couldn’t keep the sting from her voice. Cullen looked up, for the first time since entering the room she looked as uncomfortable as she felt. He had known Trevelyans from his time as a Templar. They were a pious family, perhaps more than most. Firm in both their convictions and their beliefs.

“An impressive title isn’t it? How do you feel about that?” He asked, hiding the slight caution in his voice.

“It’s… a little unsettling” Honesty, he hadn’t expected that.

“I’m sure the Chantry would agree.” He said jokingly. He had been trying to lift her mood, to lift her eyes back from the table, but her face fell slightly further.

With the meeting over he watched as she quickly left the room, her unblemished hand immediately coming up to loosen the buckles at her collar as soon as she thought she was out of sight. The gleam of her daggers caught his eyes again. As perfect as they had seemed at first he now saw they were marred with small notches and signs of use.

 

* * *

 

 

Regan stalked determinedly back to her cabin, not once looking at the crowd still gathered. ‘The Herald of Andraste,’ how ridiculous. What would her family think? Her older brother had often joked about her trying to usurp his position. Something they both knew she would never actually dream of doing, but she had ambitions of her own and they knew it.

A simple, but expertly crafted, scout cloak was laid out on her bed. She smiled to herself, making a mental note to thank whoever had made it, changing into it immediately. Suddenly feeling more herself than she had since she’d been sent to the conclave all those days ago.

Thinking about her family hurt more than she had expected. She missed them. By now they would have heard of the explosion at the chantry and considering this Herald nonsense they had most likely heard many tales of her survival, but she had to be sure. She sat down to write them a long letter, but didn’t know where to start. They would be beside themselves with worry. Her mother, concerned for her future, had been trying to convince her of marriages or chantry life since she turned sixteen, desperately wanting to protect her little girl from the crushing harshness of the real world. As a second child, with no inheritable title of her own, she knew it was the most logical move. But it wasn’t the future she wanted for herself. She was grateful, she knew they would never force her and she was ready. But here she was, in a situation she hadn’t chosen for herself and never would have. She loathed having choice taken away from her.

Her father had always doted on her in ways most wouldn’t, teaching her to use daggers in secret. The day she bested him in training and she saw such pride in his eyes was one of her favourite memories. Now she worried about the fear she knew would have taken hold. She missed them desperately, knowing that no matter how she tried to present her current situation they would see the danger waiting for her. Her biggest fear, the one she barely wanted to admit to herself, was her that they would believe she had invited this upon herself. Setting herself up to be worshiped, ruling an amalgamated kingdom she had no right to. Surely they wouldn’t think that of her, but others would, no matter what she did. She pushed the thought away, leaving the thread of worry to be pulled another day.

With no words coming she decided to go talk to her companions. She would be spending a great deal of time with them and being on friendly terms would surely help their cause. Besides friends were something she needed now more than ever. Her letter could wait.

She wandered back to the Chantry. She’d start with Josephine. Her family had a good relationship with the Montilyet’s and she had some items she had collected at the Conclave she had been asked to turn in to the researcher. Two birds with one stone. She could then work her way down the camp. Perhaps by then it would be too late to talk to Cassandra or Cullen. Neither seemed to like her much and she was unsure of how to approach them.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen was walking back from the war room when he overheard voices in Josephine’s office. The Herald and Josephine chatting away about balls and parties. Damnit. Why was he suddenly calling her that?

Stopping, he leaned slightly into the door. He found himself reddening slightly, running his hands through his hair, when he realised he could offer no excuse if he were caught eavesdropping.

 “I don’t recall seeing you at any of them,” Josephine said, a slight question in her tone.

“Attend one ball, and you’ll fend off invites for a dozen more,” replied Regan simply.

It stunned him. He assumed she would love attending balls. Surely any young noble maiden would relish in the excitement attention showered upon her during a party, particularly one with the social standing and graceful beauty of Regan. his blush deepened at the thought.

Wait footsteps… coming towards him. He turned and quickly headed down into the dungeon, hoping desperately he hadn’t been caught.

 

* * *

 

 

Josephine surprised her, talking for far longer and with more genuine warmth than she had expected. No wonder Great Aunt Lucille invited her to all her parties. It almost made Regan wish she had attended more. Almost.

Her talk with Leliana was also unexpected, but not in a good way. she seemed to be having some sort of minor meltdown. It wasn’t surprising really that the Left Hand of the Divine would be devastated by her sudden gruesome death. But Regan hadn’t expected her to reveal her turmoil. She did her best to be of comfort, but she knew it was of little solace to Leliana. They barely knew each other and there was not trust between them.

Solas was more standoffish than she had expected, he was clearly suspicious of her approach, but when she hit on the topic of the Fade he talked with such an unbridled passion that she marvelled in his knowledge. It interested Regan, but she didn’t want to talk into the twilight hours about the Fade. It was a start for them both and she hoped it would continue, just not tonight.

Varric… well he was just what she needed. She could talk with him for hours, forgetting the reality of their situation as they told jokes and stories by his fire ankle deep in snow.

 

* * *

 

 

Threnn had called Cullen to her requisition table to tell him that Regan, without even leaving Haven, had managed to fulfil the weapons requisition for the troops. He had to admit that he was impressed. Not just at her ability to fulfil the order, but her perceptiveness and initiative in not just noticing it needed to be done but actually following through and doing it herself.

Walking back to the training grounds he saw her sitting with Varric. She looked almost like a completely different person to the one he met at the war table. She was dressed far more simply now and she looked far less stiff than she had before. They were both laughing. He assumed Varric was telling one of his stories. But as he walked closer he noticed she was doing all the talking, and Varric looked less like he was putting on a performance and more himself than Cullen had ever seen.

Cullen finally truly looked at her, instead of assessing her looking for fault. Regan looked like a Chantry painting, her large grey green eyes shining in the fire light, her delicate face and strong blond hair marvellous in the warm glow. She was more average in height than he remembered. He wasn’t quite sure why he had originally thought she was tall.

That’s when he noticed… Varric was watching him. His face was still trained on Regan’s but his eyes were looking straight at him and he was… smiling. Cullen didn’t know what that smile was, but he didn’t like it. It took a moment but eventually he convinced his legs to move, hurrying back to the safety of his troops.

 

* * *

 

 

Regan’s talk with Cassandra had gone well. It was more relaxed and personal than she had anticipated. Not friendly, but definitely less antagonistic. She had to be careful, Cassandra’s walls came up like a fortress when Regan pressed to hard for details of her life in Nevarra. There was something there, something sensitive. This wasn’t the time to work at it, no matter how much it itched at Regan’s curiosity.

Just one to go.

She looked up at the sky, no hint of dark yet and only her unwritten letter to return to. Cullen was the lesser of two evils. They would have to talk sooner or later anyway.

His troops were sparring just outside the gates of Haven, you could hear the clash of swords from all over the camp. Surely she would find him there, watching and surveying. She bristled slightly thinking about how he scrutinised her in the war room. She had always hated every aspect of her being cause for criticism, growing up in nobility it was impossible to avoid. She bucked away from it as much as possible. She would have to get used to it, she guessed, unless she could convince people to stop treating her like some second coming of Andraste.

Walking beside him she was surprised when he spoke first. He sounded completely different, almost shy. No hint of the man who had seemed so cold not so long ago.

“We’ve received a number of new recruits – locals from Haven and some pilgrims. None made _quite_ the entrance you did.”

A joke? Was that a joke?

“At least I got everyone’s attention.” Regan smiled as she said it, slightly teasinsgly, curious to see what his reaction should be.

“That you did,” he laughed back.

It was unexpected. Cullen seemed different now. Outside with his troops he looked comfortably in control. He pushed the conversation forward like he wanted it to keep going, taking the initiative and talking about his past. Regan was shocked. She found she liked this Cullen. He didn’t look disappointed in her anymore and she felt less on edge around him.  She enjoyed listening to him talk. He had such passion about their cause, something she still knew far too little about. She was just relaxing into the conversation when all of a sudden he stopped his candour short.

“… Forgive me. I doubt you came here for a lecture.”

“No, but if you have one prepared I’d love to hear it.” Regan smiled as she replied, only half joking, urging him to just keep talking. He was telling her all things she would need to know. She had always loved learning. Besides passion had always been something that appealed to her. And there was something about his voice…

“Another time perhaps.” He smiled a lopsided apologetic smile at her and then…

That was a laugh. A definite laugh. A genuine laugh. Regan couldn’t help but grin back. Her opinion of him earlier seemed silly now. She hadn’t taken the time to get to know him before deciding she knew enough. It was something she always hated when done to her and she didn’t like the thought that she had been doing it to others. Now, here he was talking to her like a normal person. No harshness in his gaze at all. no bite in his words. She was almost beginning to wonder if she had imagined it.

He smiled back at her, his words fading away. She found herself watching the scar o his top lip, wondering what had caused it. Then all of a sudden it was over. One scout with one report and he retreated back into his work, his world. Lost again.s

Regan didn’t want it to end. She had nowhere to go except back to her cabin and the letter she had been trying to pretend she didn’t need to write.

She would wait, biding her time by chatting with Harritt and pre-planning something less stupid to say. She wanted to know more about him as a person, but that could be put on hold for later, first she needed to learn more about the situation they were in and where it was likely to lead them.

Seizing her moment she settled two topics in her mind as she walked back to Cullen; their companions and the Templar Order.

 

* * *

 

 

Cullen saw Regan heading back in his direction. It surprised him to see her returning so soon. He had been a little sad when their earlier conversation had been interrupted, but assumed she had gone back to her own duties. He had not anticipated her coming to talk to him again. Not today.

He felt a little off guard. Perhaps that’s why he shared more about his time in Fereldan’s Circle and Kirkwall than he normally would have, but he stopped himself short of divulging too much. There were many things he didn’t want to admit to himself, let alone people he had just met. He simply wasn’t proud of some parts of his life and he’d rather she never found out. No, he would share them if he had to, but no earlier.

Her eyes twinkled when he mentioned Varric’s comments about his serious expression. She certainly didn’t seem surprised. He would have to be careful of that he realised, he didn’t want to appear standoffish and uncaring to his troops. If he did they would be unwilling to approach him when they needed to and that could put people in jeopardy. He had seen firsthand how an unlistening and unmoving leader could destroy far more than simply themselves.

He wasn’t sure how or when the topic veered to him personally, the questions were still ostensibly about his Templar background, but he found himself talking freely. Regan was good, far better at getting information out of him than he had expected he realised. A useful talent. She was disarming and he found it easy to trust her, something which didn’t come naturally to him.

Her genuine concern when she found he had left to join the Templars at thirteen both touched and frustrated him. He was young but at the time he felt ready. Now he was not so sure, he hadn’t been for some time. The thing he missed most deeply from his old life was the certainty he once felt. Now his decisions felt more his own, but they were far harder than before.

The discussion of vows took him completely by surprise. He tried to answer as best he could, but suddenly he found he didn’t know what to do with his hands and his words faltered before he had begun them. He settled for crossing his arms tightly over his chest. He didn’t want to seem fidgety. When she asked about him specifically he desperately wanted to ask her why she wanted to know, he even got some of the question out before stopping himself, answering her as quickly as he could and desperately to change the topic in the same breath.

He didn’t know what happened but something had shifted again. She looked less like the Regan he saw talking easily with people and more like the Regan he had seen in the war room. Squaring her shoulders slightly and lifting her chin just like she had when she noticed him assessing her armour earlier. She muttered her goodbyes and turned, walking sharply back up the large stone steps. He wanted to stop her. He wanted their easy conversation back, but he could think of nothing to say.

He watched her go, a sense of sadness flaring and ebbing slightly within him. At the top of the steps he saw him. Varric watching with that smile. Surely he couldn’t have heard? Cullen thought to himself as he turned his attention back to his work.

 

* * *

 

 

It was a joke. She had meant it as a joke, although she had wanted to know the answer. Damn her stupid curiosity. He didn’t laugh. He just seemed flustered.

_Why did I ask that?_ She thought to herself as she hurried back to her cabin. Barely noticing, but managing a short hello to, Varric as she passed him on the steps.

There was nothing she could do now except finish the task she had been avoiding all day. With a sigh Regan sat at her desk and once again began to write her letter. She wanted to ask for help. To ask for her parents to just come get her and take her home, but she knew she couldn’t and she wouldn’t do that to them.

She had to find a way to reassure them, even if she couldn’t find a way to reassure herself.

 

* * *

 

 

It was dark. Almost pitch black, when Cullen finished the last of his duties at the training grounds. It seemed to get dark quickly in Haven, but he knew it was late. He had sent the troops to their quarter’s hours ago. He knew the inquisition needed him at his best, but he found sleep no longer came easily to him like it had before the incident at the Circle. Yet, even that seemed minor to trying to sleep after Kirkwall. Now with the Conclave and his headaches growing steadily worse it felt like sleep was constantly around a corner, within reach but just out of grasp. Tantalisingly cruel. He had been finding the nights at Haven peaceful… well more peaceful. It was more calm here. Quieter. More like home. He was surprisingly comforted to be back in Fereldan. That made things easier. He had never realised how much he had missed Fereldan until he returned.

The breach in the sky was incredibly unsettling though, but he supposed that would be the case no matter where they were based. There was no escaping it. It was large enough to see from anywhere he could imagine. At least Haven was still. He was starting to feel safe, well not safe… but safer.

As he walked up the stone steps towards the cabins he noticed a light over in the small section where Regan’s quarters had been set. He found himself walking in that direction. He could see her in her window, sitting at her desk writing.

Was she… it looked like she was crying. He was too far away to really tell he told himself. He walked around the corner to her door, the desire to make sure she was ok pulling him in. drawing him closer. With his hand raised to knock he managed to stop himself.

He wasn’t sure where they stood. He didn’t think they were friends yet. Perhaps she wasn’t crying at all and he would be intruding where he wasn’t wanted. He didn’t know enough about her to guess who she could be writing to. He knew nothing of her family. Perhaps she even had a betrothed she was pouring her heart out to. Crying as she wished for him.

No, it was better to leave her. Walking away he realised after their long conversations today he still really knew nothing about her.

 

* * *

 

 

Wiping her eyes Regan lifted her head. She was sure she had heard something in the snow outside her cabin. It was too late for anyone to be calling on her. it must be just an animal wandering outside in the cold. One more thing about her new life she would have to get used to.


	2. Special Shipments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan heads to the Hinterlands and meets the Seekers in Val Royeaux, picking up some new followers and presents along the way.

Cullen saw her leave, dressed in her dragon armour again. It was hard to deny that armour was splendid to look at. It commanded attention and she wore it with a certainty that seemed almost infectious. She looked so in control when setting out to the Hinterlands that he was completely unprepared for her state when she returned.

The first thing he noticed was the horse, a fine Fereldan chestnut, where she had gotten that he could not fathom. There had been some mention of approaching Master Dennet to requisition mounts. Surely she could not have already done so. He was so taken by the horse that it took him a while to notice she had changed into her scout coat at some point during the journey, but it didn’t look the same. It was covered in something. Sticky and dark. Blood. The realisation hit him square in the jaw. She was covered in blood. He felt his pace increase as he hurried towards her. Brow furrowed slightly further together than usual, desperately trying to hide his concern. She was only meant to go talk to Mother Gisele and come back to Haven. He knew there would be some fighting involved trying to reach her, to roads were littered with waring mages and Templars. But there was just so much blood. He saw her wince slightly as she dismounted. Leaving the horse in the stables with Harritt she was through the large wooden gates and in her cabin before he could catch up to her.

Varric smirked as he walked over to Cullen standing uncertainly on the large stone steps outside the walls.

“Don’t worry Curly. The blood’s not hers… well… mostly not hers.”

Damn Varric and that smile. Unsure of what to do with himself he waited for Varric to head on his way. following Regan with Varric watching was definitely a bad idea. Instead Cullen turned his attention back to his troops. Throwing himself headlong into the chaos of training, using it as an excuse to burn off his jitters and distract himself from his unease.

He was even more surprised when not even an hour later Regan approach his meeting with Josephine, Leliana and Cassandra, showing no sign of the pain he had seen upon her return. Cassandra had been telling them the basics of the Hinterlands expedition, but glossing over the finer details he would have expected her to relay. When Regan arrived he could see why. Cassandra let her immediately take control of the meeting, something he had never seen her do before. He knew he wasn’t the only one to notice. Josephine shifted slightly nervously at the change in relationship and Leliana was looking at them both very, very closely. Cassandra letting someone else take control of, well anything really, was something which just didn’t happen. To allow Regan to lead an expedition debrief was almost unbelievable. Something between them had changed. When Regan started talking he realised why. She was clear and concise, describing the meeting with Mother Giselle and her plans to make aw show in Val Royeaux in an attempt to allay the fears of the Chantry. A plan Cullen didn’t like, but even he could see the necessity. She also told them of the deal with Dennet and the watchtowers he requested. She had not gone on this expecting to merely be a figurehead, she had gone to lead.

The more gossip he heard around Haven after their return the more confused he felt. Regan hold told them everything that happened in clear detail, but now it seemed she had played down her own role in their expedition. Why she would do that he did not know.

Regan had steadfastly refused to return to Haven until they had done everything possible to make life more bearable for their troops and the refugees seeking safety in the Crossroads. They raided the stronghold of the mages as their first call of duty. Cullen had heard rumours Regan had insisted on going in first, no matter how Cassandra protested, fearing for her safety and doubting her ability. Clouded in a grey vanishing smoke she slipped silently inside, slitting the throats of the rebel apostate leaders like some sort of ghost in the shadows. By the time they reached the Templar stronghold Casandra had stopped questioning her. There was even the whisper, although he was sure it couldn’t be true, that Cassandra had asked Regan for advice strategizing their attack on the demon wolves plaguing the farmland in the hills behind the Crossroads.

A scout called Ritts even offered to become an agent of the inquisition for Leliana. An idea, allegedly, innocently suggested by Varric, although, she wouldn’t admit to what made her agree. But she did blush rather strangely whenever anyone probed her for more information.

He could still barely understand it. They had only been gone for three days. How had she accomplished so much? It was unbelievable an expedition like that should have been impossible for such a small party. Not only had they survived, with barely an injury between them, but they seemed to have become closer during their time away from Haven

He was so caught up in his own head that he almost missed Regan stumble as she once again headed to her cabin.

 

* * *

  

A commotion outside the Chantry startled Regan from her nap. The pain in her side was fading far quicker than the health potions she had taken should account for. She suspected Solas. She was slightly separated from her party when the Templar struck her, his sword penetrating the join in her armour sharply, but not deeply. She hid it well and truthfully it hadn’t hurt all that much to begin with. But soon all the travelling and fighting had caught up to her, the stinging rising strongly. The jerky movement of riding her new horse certainly hadn’t helped.

She wasn’t sure when Solas had noticed, he didn’t say anything, but she noticed him periodically mumbling in her direction and each time she had felt warmth washing over her. Hurriedly putting on her dragon armour she stopped briefly to look at the cut. It was almost fully closed. Definitely magic. She didn’t care so long as it worked.

She heard Cullen’s voice cut through the noise, quickening her pace in response.

“That is not my title. We are _not_ Templars any longer. We are all part of The Inquisition!”

The venom in Cullen’s voice rising above the discontented crowd shocked her. She flashed back to the way he had looked at her when they first met in the war room and felt a chilled run up her spine. She, of course, knew about Meredith and Kirkwall, but only through the rumours and gossip that travelled after the uprising. She had learned more from her talk with Cullen, but suddenly she felt she needed to know more. There was clearly more to his decision to leave the Templars than she had assumed.

The talk of red lyrium being found throughout Thedas already had her worried.

Roderick was causing trouble. She should have known. She watched quietly out of sight as Cullen sent the crowd away. She felt for them. She knew herself how terrified everyone was, how frightened she was. She wanted to help. She really did, but she was tired of this. The bickering. The arguing. All of it over her.

It was like the explosion at the conclave didn’t matter. Like the breach, the massive green glowing hole in the sky, was insignificant. No… what was important was arguing over whether she was the Herald.

How could any of them possibly know the will of the Maker? Why did so many of them want to believe she spoke for Andraste? She wished she could take each one of them aside and  tell them the truth, she did not know why she was saved. There were some many people more deserving, with more to give. She could tell them all she didn’t remember what happened or how it fitted into the Maker’s plan. But it was like they couldn’t hear her. No. it was more like they wouldn’t hear her. They didn’t want to. They wanted to believe… in something. They wanted answers, they wanted comfort and she had none to give them.

She spoke with Mother Giselle before heading to the war room. She needed calmness. There was something about her voice that seemed to wash over her. Half the time Regan lost track of the actual words and just listen to the cadence. Today one particular phrase stood out that “When the Inquisition is needed, it will strike without mercy. But when its work is done it will put its sword away.” Right now Regan wanted to do nothing more than put her sword away.

A ride. A ride to anywhere but here, surely that would help lift her spirits. Regan loved riding, it was so freeing. She often spent hours with her childhood horse Ajax exploring all nature had to offer around her home in Ostwick. She hadn’t had a new horse since Ajax, she still felt the pain of losing him, but she was glad to have her new friend.

He was waiting for her in the stables, being spoilt by Harritt, who was pleased to have a horse to smith for. His broad smile when Regan told him of the impending arrival of Dennet’s steeds was so genuine that Regan found herself liking him all the more.

The horse Dennet had given her was beautiful, a deep red with little white socks matching the stripe down his face, and lovely intelligent eyes. He obeyed most of his commands with good natured ease.

Poor thing, Dennet’s daughter, Seanna had named him Carrot. It made her giggle, but she could hardly be the fearsome Herald of Andraste riding into battle on her Valliant steed Carrot.

Tulloch, that was a fine name for a horse and a fine horse deserved a fine name.

 

* * *

 

 Cullen knew she needed to go to Val Royeaux. They needed support desperately. But the danger… he didn’t want to walk into danger again. The thought of Cassandra accompanying her calmed him a little she was like a battering in human form in a fight, but combat wasn’t the only risk they would face   .

As he watched her leave Cullen realised Regan was dressed in that dragon armour again. He was starting to see a pattern. She wore it when she wanted to impress people. When she wanted to convince people she was worth listening to and taking seriously. He wished he could tell her she didn’t need it. That she commanded the room regardless. But a little part of him knew she was right. There were people she would never convince, but every little step toward doing so gave her more power and them less. It was simple, but very calculated. It was still for protection she wore it to protect herself from people she didn’t trust, or didn’t trust yet and he smiled to himself when he realised she no longer wore it around him.

 

* * *

 

 The woman at the gates actually squealed in fear as she went past. Regan wanted to laugh. The whole situation was farcical.

“They wish to protect the people from us?” Cassandra sounded stunned.

“Protect them from the blasphemous herald of Andraste I’d say.” It was ridiculous. Surely the Chantry would see that no matter what they thought of her they needed to close the breach. Fast.

“Behold the so called Herald of Andraste! Claiming to rise where our beloved fell. We say this is a false prophet! No servant of anything beyond her selfish greed!” the Revered Mother shouted through Regan to the gathered crowd.

“I make no such claim. I wasn’t sent here by Andraste or the Maker. I am simply trying to close the breach it threatens us all.” It felt like no one was listening. If anyone had selfish political motivations for today’s meeting it certainly wasn’t her.

The brief glimmer of hope Regan felt when the Templars marched towards them was felled by a single punch. The trust she had been raised to intrinsically hold towards them shattered. She knew all Templars were not like this. Her family was not like this. Cullen was not like this… but he wasn’t a Templar anymore, perhaps for good reason. The Lord Seeker’s barb about Cullen stung her more than it should have. As she watched the Templars march away she couldn’t help but hope their stupid winged helmets would get stuck in a doorway.

Regan felt duty bound to help the Revered Mother to her feet. Her comfort when Regan told her, again, that she believed herself merely a victim of circumstance made her want to leave her where she lay. She wanted to shake her. To tell her that if she had just listened in the first place they would have been one step closer to closing the breach. They could have helped each other. She had never thought the Chantry would truly turn their back on her.

The invitation to First Enchanter Vivienne’s party amused her. it had been a long time since she attended an Orlesian party and it would be nice to simply be somewhere else for a while. She enjoyed talking with the nobles, her heroism growing steadily with every anecdote. Vivienne clearly wanted to use her, but Regan was fine with that. Her skills and connections would be useful and it was refreshing to know what someone expected of her for a change. Vivienne saw her less as an enigma and more as a person with power and that suited Regan just fine.

Sera was… well Sera. Meeting her had been enlightening. If Regan had been looking for honesty she had found it in spades. She was odd, but she saw her as ‘just a person’ and Regan found she couldn’t feel too guilty about killing someone sent to kill her. Regardless she wanted to help, to get everything back to normal. At least with Sera she’d know where she stood.

Debate raged in the war room. Approaching the Templars or the mages was a huge decision. There was no guarantee that either group could help. Regan wasn’t sure about Grand Enchanter Fiona. Her arriving just after the scuffle with the Templars felt too convenient for comfort, she was suspicious. Surely meeting Fiona in Redcliff could not hurt, they would have to go there sooner or later anyway. At least the mages seemed to want to help, but it certainly felt like a trap. She had the same feeling she used to get when her brother hid on the other side of a doorway, waiting to jump out.

But the Templars could not be left unchecked they were far too unpredictable, and yet, Regan felt a little resentful of trying to beg for help from people who clearly didn’t want anything to do with them. Perhaps a way could still be found where mages and Templars could come together. Her mind raced over the possibilities as she headed back to her cabin. There must be a way. There has to be. There was still time to come up with a plan. She needed more people first. She couldn’t risk walking into danger alone. She had cheated death once, testing it a second time seemed foolish.

Mail, finally! She had been hoping for a letter from her family when she returned, but there was still no word from them. There were many other letters, too many letters, hopeful, pleading, scared and accusatory. She had to talk to Josephine about this. There were so many letters already here and soon there would be too many to manage. Presents too, not many of those thankfully, she thought, deciding to use whatever she could to better outfit the inquisition or the refugees. Then she found them. Her heart leapt a little and she changed immediately. She had to find Cassandra.

 

* * *

 

 Cullen was trying to get his troops to focus on their sparring. They needed to be prepared for a real battle not a fake one. Normally they were devoted in their practice, the explosion at the Conclave had stirred a fervour in them. Fear did that. He had ramped up his own training regime after the Fereldan Circle and again after Kirkwall. Today was different. They were unfocused. Sneaking glances in the direction of Cassandra’s training dummies whenever they thought he wasn’t watching. He had to get to the bottom of it.

He was within earshot when he noticed her. The Herald, Regan, dressed in the traditional Qunari armour he remembered from Kirkwall and holding something out to Cassandra. Her blue and red antaam-saar didn’t leave much to the imagination. He had never been sure how the Qunari were so hard to fell in battle, their armour hardly seemed protective. He couldn’t blame his soldiers for being distracted.

“What do you mean you don’t want it?” he heard her ask “It’s called a shokra-taar and I think it would fit you wonderfully. The red would really suit you.”

She even managed to sound completely innocent and slightly hurt when Cassandra flatly refused to take the garment, but Cullen saw a twinkle in her eye. He crossed over to where Varric was watching barely able to contain his laughter.

Regan looked stunning, cold, but spectacular. There was snow all over the ground for heaven’s sake. Looking around he realised his troops were barely pretending to practice now. A small crowd had gathered. This was starting to trouble him, there were too many people watching, waiting for a reaction.

“I see she’s gathered many admirers. It’s hardly surprising.” Varric said, looking up at him. Smiling. Again. Cullen decided he had picked the wrong place to stand. He signed, leaning against the stone wall.

He was starting to worry. How far would she try to push Cassandra?  He wouldn’t have risked it himself. To be fair he hadn’t had the opportunity, no one had sent him presentss and certainly no armour quite like that.

“Perhaps armour better for distraction than defence. It might work.” remarked Cassandra thoughtfully, turning the garment over in her hands. Then she laughed. Cassandra laughed. He didn’t know she could do that. He’d never heard it before. Even Varric stopped eying him intently and looked back at the two women. Regan laughed back. Suddenly it was like watching two friends talking.

It seemed the show was over.

Cullen began to stand up straight, preparing to head back to work, when Regan’s eyes met his. He tried desperately but he couldn’t help himself going slightly red. Why did he feel like he’d been caught where he shouldn’t be?

“Well, if you’re sure you won’t wear it I’d better take this off. I’d look silly being the only one.” Regan said to Cassandra, flashing her brilliant smile at him before turning and heading back to her cabin.

“Definitely admirers trying to garner more than just the _favour_ of the Herald.” smiled the dwarf. Cullen said nothing as he walked away, trying not to listen to Varric laughing quietly to himself.

Who had been sending her presents he wondered? Presents like that. Whoever it was Cullen didn’t like them. As he returned to his post he felt his blush deepening as he wondered whether she’d keep the antaam-saar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've always wondered just how protective the Qunari armour would actually be. I always feel cold looking at it in Haven.


	3. Letters and Enchanters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan travels to Redcliffe, much to Cullen's displeasure

Regan was glad to be back in the Hinterlands. It was nice to be somewhere not covered with snow. The plentiful apple trees that grew throughout the district reminded her of home. Tulloch seemed glad to be back here too. He didn’t like the snow either, flicking his feet with derisive little vshakes whenever she led him out of his warm hay covered stall.

Finding someone right where they were meant to be was something of a relief, and Warden Blackwall was right where Leliana had suggested she look. They spoke at length about the conclave and the breach. Regan tried to be as convincing as she could, but he seemed more concerned with how she found him, almost suspicious. It wasn’t working, she could not persuade him. She would force no one to join their cause. It was far too dangerous to enter into unwillingly. Grey Wardens were heroes, they deserved better. But she needed him. Wardens were legendary for their prowess and stamina. She did not know what they would be forced to face, but she knew she would prefer to face it with a Warden at her side. With the sudden disappearance of so many Wardens she could not let him go without a fight. She had to convince him to join the Inquisition. There was one last thing she could try, it was crazy and it probably wouldn’t work, but it was all she had.

“It’s been a pleasure Warden Blackwall, but this didn’t help at all.” Regan smiled as she turned away, beginning to walk off slowly. She saw Cassandra raise her eyebrows slightly, but she followed suit without a word. The silence surrounding them was deafening. She’d blown it. He wouldn’t follow. It was a stupid idea. Regan grimaced as she began to imagine explaining to Leliana how she had found a Grey Warden, but left him in the Hinterlands unconvinced of their cause. She would not be pleased.

Blackwall’s voice startled her out of her ruminations.  _Thank_ _the_ _Masker_ , she thought to herself, turning back to face him with all the control she could muster.

“The Divine is dead, and the sky is torn. Events like these, thinking we’re absent is almost as bad as thinking we’re involved. If you are trying to put things right, maybe you need a Warden. Maybe you need me.”

“The inquisition needs all the support it can get, but what can one Grey Warden do?” Regan asked flippantly, pushing her luck further in the vain hope she could get him to reveal something, anything, of the other wardens.

“Save the fucking world if pressed…  Maybe this isn’t a blight, but it’s bloody well a disaster.” Nothing, he gave away nothing.

Blackwall alone it was then, not that she really had a choice. Regan was honoured to have a Warden at her side. One Grey Warden was better than no Grey Warden. But Regan wasn’t sure how long Leliana could be satisfied without knowing what had happened to the rest.

 

* * *

 

When Regan returned to her cabin she saw it straight away. One letter standing out amongst the rest on her desk. The letter she had been anticipating for so long, but this felt nothing like she had expected. The excitement she felt when she first saw it was quickly replaced with apprehension. She kept picking it up and putting it back down, unable to make herself read it. There was so much potential in that small envelope. So much it could say. She was scared, too scared to open it.

 

* * *

 

The mud at the Storm Coast sucked in Regan’s boots as she trudged her way through it, her mind still heavily planted in Haven. She could practically see the letter sitting on her desk, the red wax seal’s edge lifting slightly from where she had been playing with it. She should have opened it. Then she would know. The waiting was killing her. All the answers to her unasked questions had been in her hands, but she had let fear make her decisions for her.

The sound of fighting broke through her thoughts. It was close, too close. The clamour was coming from below, where she knew the Bull’s Chargers were waiting. Carefully peering over the cliff’s edge she could see a small battle raging. _Great, just great_ , she thought to herself as she hurried down the slippery, jagged, slope, Varric, Solas and Cassandra trailing closely behind. It took everything she had not to fall and slide her way into the middle of the foray. Gaining her balance, she launched herself at the nearest Tevinter marksman, giving all the energy she could to the task at hand. The battle was over quickly. The Bull’s Chargers could certainly hold their own, though there was something suspicious about the Dalish elf. Her bow looked like no other Regan had ever seen, a crystal on top glowing and fading throughout the fight. She hadn’t seemed to fire any arrows. Regan let her curiosity wain and turned her attention to the chief.

The Iron Bull was confident. He wanted to control the conversation and Regan let him. If it made him feel better and more agreeable, she was more than willing to think him think he was in charge. She hadn’t expected him to be Ben-Hassrath and she certainly hadn’t expected him to admit it so readily.

“You’re a Qunari spy and you just told me?” She tried and failed to keep her voice steady, but the shock was clearly evident.

She forced herself to keep her breathing steady as he talked, trying to regain her demeanour. She listened carefully as he explained, as much as he was willing to, his role within the Qunari. She knew it was foolish, but she hoped by gaining control of her composure slowly and steadily, he wouldn’t see he had rattled her. But he was a spy, he had seen, she could hear it in the calm way he spoke to her, soothing and patronising.

“So whatever I am, I’m on your side,” he spoke to her like he would a child. It simply could not be allowed to stand. Regan would not be belittled by someone who would potentially be working closely with her.

“You run your reports past Leliana before sending them. You send nothing she doesn’t approve. If this turns out to be a trick, or if your reports compromise the inquisition, Cassandra will eat you alive.” Regan spoke clearly and directly, although Varric’s slight chuckle ruined the effect slightly.  She needed to re-establish her authority quickly. A clear procedure needed to be in place before the first report was sent. The Inquisition was still a fledgling organisation. They could not afford for people to assume the direction they were headed before they had the chance to decide for themselves.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way,” he replied. Regan was glad when she heard a modicum of respect return to his voice.

He was amicable that was for sure. Perhaps the friendliest spy she had met so far, not that she would tell Leliana that when they next met. But she didn’t trust him, not yet, anyway.

 

* * *

 

Two letters were in the envelope, one more than she expected and one less than she wanted. Reading the letter from her father left Regan in tears. It was long and full of more meaning than mere words on a page could convey.

She had known her family would worry, but to see it written so plainly was almost more than she could bear. The news of the explosion at the Temple of Sacred Ashes had reached her family almost immediately, as she knew it would. They had spent days worrying about her, fearing the worst. When they heard of her miraculous survival their concern only shifted and intensified, rather than abating as they had hoped. Her parents were scared, she could hear it. they could not protect her now. She was on her own. There was an honesty on the page that was undeniable, a certain candidness to her father’s letter that she had never heard from him before. He did his best to reassure her, but he didn’t sound convinced himself. His letter was from both her mother and himself he explained, as tenderly as he could, her mother could not bear to write one of her own yet. Instead her comments and thoughts dotted the page, filling the margins.

Her brother’s letter was filled with the same worry as her parents, but he hid it far better than they had. He did what she wished her parents had done, he talked to her as he normally would, telling her about his life and what was happening at home. It was brief, it was old news, but it was the respite she needed. He even managed to make her smile when he suggested their family deploy the strongest weapon at their disposal to gather her support, Great Aunt Lucille.

 

* * *

 

Cullen didn’t want Regan to go to Redcliffe. Meeting the mages was too dangerous, they could not be trusted. He had seen firsthand how damaging magic left unchecked could be. The power of that many mages together made him feel weak and his head grow heavy. The thought of bringing enough mages to Haven to help seal the breach made him feel uneasy. He was unsure he would be able to maintain his composure around them. A meeting with the Templars was so close, could she not have simply waited. He would rather have the Templars here first if assistance from the mages was needed. If he was honest with himself, he hoped the mages would not need to be sent for at all.

He knew it was affecting his work. He was being too hard on his soldiers, expecting too much from their daily training, but he couldn’t help himself. Everything was just so loud. His mind was flooded with noise. Some days he feared he would never hear silence again. He would give anything, almost anything, for quiet.

 

* * *

 

Regan didn’t trust Grand Enchanter Fiona, her arriving just after all hope of allying with the Templars seemed lost was far too convenient for her liking. The offer for help was either genuine or a trap. Regardless it had to be investigated further and the only way to do that was to make the long trek through the Hinterlands to Redcliffe.

Regan secretly loved the Hinterlands, coming up with excuses to travel it lulling rivers and rolling hills. Now it had been cleared of most of the fighting mages and Templars it was so peaceful. The apple trees dotting the farms reminded her of the beautiful apple orchard at her home in Ostwick. The spring blossoms had made their slow transition into crisp sweet red apples

Tulloch loved apples too, happily nipping them out of her hands whenever they were offered, neighing gratefully. Riding Tulloch Regan almost forgot what had brought her here. It was an escape, one she desperately needed.

 

* * *

 

“Andraste’s ass… I’m trying to think of a single worse thing you could have done. And I’ve got nothing.”  Varric sounded lost for words and Regan couldn’t help but agree.

The rebel mages were desperate, everyone knew that, but to sign themselves away in servitude to a Tevinter Magister? It was unbelievably stupid. It was short sighted. It was pathetic. She wanted to rail at Fiona, tell her exactly how little she thought of her and then storm out of the Gull and Lantern, slamming the door in her wake. What was wrong with these people? First the Chantry disavowed the Inquisition, the Templars refused to serve and now the mages were running away in the hopes that sometime, in the far distant future, they may live freely. Did no one care about the breach?  Imminent danger hovered above them and they never seemed to look up.

“You are quite a long way from Tevinter, Alexius,” she said, keeping a friendly veneer over the frustration in her voice.

“Indeed I am. Although I have heard you are no Fereldan either. It seems we are both strangers here.” The thought hit her cold in the face. Was that how people saw her? Asserting her own personal agenda in a foreign land, a place she had no right to claim dominion. She pushed it away. She was not the leader of the Inquisition, merely its representative. The Inquisition was built with people from all over Thedas, for the people of Thedas, not just Fereldan. To allow herself to believe anything less… she simply could not.

No, she needed to concentrate. Magister Gereon Alexius was important. There was no trust between them, they both knew it, and yet the conversation flowed with a cunning cordiality that only served to heighten Regan’s awareness.

Suddenly the Magister’s son Felix stumbled towards her, collapsing heavily in her arms. As Regan tried her best to catch him, to stop him from falling, she felt a small folded note press subtly into her palm. Before she had the chance to register what was happening Alexius whisked Felix away, concern for his son written blatantly across his face.

Reading Felix’s not confused her, why did he feel the need to tell her she was in danger? Regan already knew and accepted it, to assume anything else was idiocy. She had believed she knew where the immediate threat lay. Now she was not so sure.

“Ooh, very mysterious,” Varric said, interrupting her musing.

“We will be careful, but we need to figure out what’s going on here,” Regan replied. There was more to this than she could see, she could feel it.

Walking out of the tavern a young tranquil man intercepted them. He explained Alexius had cast all the tranquil out of Redcliffe Castle. It was like their being stripped of magic scared him. Taking pity on the poor man, Regan sent him to Haven. His knowledge could be of use to Cullen and Regan couldn’t bear to leave him stranded in amongst so much uncertainty.

 

* * *

 

Regan swung open the large wooden doors of Redcliffe’s chantry, entirely unprepared for what lay behind. A rift hung heavily in the middle of the room, like a morbid chandelier. Regan hadn’t seen a rift indoors before, to find one here troubled her greatly. A young man twirled beneath the green glow, sparks of glittering magic shooting from his staff.

“Good! You’re finally here! Now help me close this would you?” said the unfamiliar mage, flashing a brilliant smile, before turning his attention back to the fade rift in the middle of the chantry.

It felt like time slowed down and sped up as she moved around the room. The effect was disorienting. Regan kept losing focus. One moment her movements were stilted like she was running through tar, her foes moving out of sight faster than she could follow, the next she was flying, the world a blur beneath her feet. Whenever she felt she had gained her bearing everything shifted again. She was so clouded that when blow struck her deep in the thigh she never saw it coming. This needed to end. Soon. The battle raged on both longer and quicker at the same time. It was draining. Seizing her moment Regan raised her hand a bursting arc of green light streaming from her palm, stinging slightly more than usual.

“Fascinating. How does that work, exactly? You don’t even know do you? You just wiggle your fingers, and boom! Rift closes.” The man’s eyes were shining with humour.

“Who are you?” inquired Regan, not hiding her suspicion.

“Ah. Getting ahead of myself again I see. Dorian of House Pavus. Most recently of Minrathous. How do you do?” The genuine civility disarmed Regan slightly.

Her eyes widened when suddenly a familiar warmth spread over her. Looking to her side Regan could see Solas quietly muttering, subtly healing her wounds. She didn’t understand, the cut to her leg was purely superficial. It could have waited until they knew what they faced. By healing her now Solas left himself vulnerable, his mana depleted. What if there was more danger to come? This could not continue. They would need to talk. For now, she turned her attention back to Dorian, who had continued talking none the wiser.

“Look, you must know there’s danger. That should be obvious, even without the note. Let’s start with Alexius claiming the allegiance of the mage rebels out from under you. As if by magic, yes? Which is exactly right. To reach Redcliffe before the Inquisition, Alexius distorted time itself.”

“He arranged it so that he could get here just after the Divine died?” Regan wondered aloud. If that were so, then surely he was somehow connected to the explosion at the conclave and the creation of the breach itself.

“You catch on quick,” replied Dorian.

Regan had anticipated many things before entering the chantry, but a Magister with the ability to distort time was worse than anything she had imagined.

“The magic Alexius is using is wildly unstable, and it’s unravelling the world,” said Dorian, confirming the fears she had not dared to voice.

“What I don’t understand is why he’s doing it? Ripping time to shreds just to gain a few hundred lackeys?” she asked.

“He didn’t do it for them,” came a voice from the shadows. When Felix stepped into the light he looked markedly paler and more worn than in the tavern.

“Took you long enough. Is he getting suspicious?” Dorian’s voice was filled with warmth and worry for the sickly young man, his eyes lighting up with fondness as he looked towards him.

Disappointingly it turned out Felix knew little of the specifics of Alexius’s plan, besides the involvement of a Tevinter supremacist cult called the Venatori. Regan shouldn’t have been surprised by what was said next. After all, in the past few weeks she had been blown up in an explosion that rivalled the destruction of the chantry in Kirkwall, battled a giant hole in the sky and demons fell around her whenever she left the safety of Haven. Not only that, but the pain in her hand had become a steady unrelenting throb, flaring sharply whenever she used her mark to close one of the hundreds rifts that plagued Thedas.

“… I can tell you one thing! Whatever he’s done for them, he’s done it to get to you,” Felix said, looking Regan in the eyes, almost as if pleading forgiveness. Even with all the things that had happened to her Regan was totally stunned. She still wasn’t used to people treating her as anything other than a typical noble and, right now in particular, she didn’t like all the extra attention.

“It would also be nice if he didn’t rip a hole in time. There’s already a hole in the sky,” observed Dorian, “you know you’re his target. Expecting the trap is the first step in turning it to your advantage.”

“There are worse things than dying, Dorian.” Felix said as he left, an unspoken message to Dorian hanging in the air.

 

* * *

 

Cullen couldn’t believe what he was hearing. The argument in the war room was growing increasingly tense. It was stupid, the whole idea was senseless. They simply could not do it.

“We don’t have enough manpower to take the castle. Either we find another way in, or we give up this nonsense and go get the Templars!” Cullen tried and failed to keep the anger out of his voice. Redcliffe Castle had withstood the very blight itself. How could they possibly think they simply storm in and take it back?

Cassandra did not hesitate to shout back. “Redcliffe is in the hands of a Magister. This cannot be allowed to stand.”

She was right, he knew she was right, but it didn’t matter. Without a plan there was nothing they could do. It shouldn’t have, but their inability to act relieved him. They would simply have to reach out to the Templars first.

Josephine’s soft Antivan voice cut through the palpable tension. “The letter from Alexius asked for the Herald of Andraste by name. It’s an obvious trap.”

“Isn’t that kind of him? What does Alexius say about me?” Regan sounded confident, but during their time in Haven Cullen had learnt how to spot the little movements and changes in voice that exposed her unease. She shifted her shoulders higher, standing up straighter, her eyes flickering shut just a fraction longer than normal.

“He’s so complementary that we are certain he wants to kill you.” Leliana’s voice sounded almost songlike in her response, it was as if the situation was completely ordinary to her.

 Panic overwhelmed him. He couldn’t let her walk into their trap.

“If you go in there you’ll die. And we’ll lose the only means we have of closing these rifts. I won’t allow it.”

Leliana countered him almost immediately, “And if we don’t even try to meet Alexius, we lose the mages and leave a hostile foreign power on our doorstep!”

He could see they had to do something, but if Cullen had his way they would gather Templar support first and storm the castle as fully prepared as they could be.

“The Magister’s son, Felix, told me Alexius is in a cult obsessed with me. I doubt they will graciously receive our apologies and go about their business.” Cullen couldn’t understand how Regan could keep the lightness in her voice.

The whole situation was treacherous. It was exceptionally dangerous for Regan to head into an almost certain assassination attempt with the miniscule support they could offer, but refusing to meet Alexius could provoke a response that could be equally deadly. Regardless of the threat, storming the castle was just not possible. Any agents who managed to infiltrate the castle would be discovered before enough of them were in place.

 “That’s why we need a distraction. Perhaps the envoy Alexius wants so badly?” Leliana suggested.

“Focus their attention on Trevelyan while we take out the Tevinters. It’s risky, but it could work,” he admitted, turning the plan over in his head. Cullen relented, he had to, but that didn’t stop him hating the plan with every fibre of his being.

Suddenly a loud banging on the door interrupted their planning. It opened to reveal a perturbed scout and a self-assured man with a clear Tevinter accent. He was handsome, there was no denying it, and younger than Cullen, aged somewhere between Regan and himself. Regan greeted him warmly, introducing Dorian like they were old friends. Cullen didn’t like him. He liked him even less when he learned of his connection to the Magister who threatened them all. He didn’t trust his motivations. He could not let him put Regan in even greater danger. Dorian’s insistence on being with her during the meeting with Alexius made Cullen deeply suspicious. He decided to ignore him, instead turning his attention back to Regan.

“The plan puts you in the most danger. We can’t, in good conscience, order you to do this. We can still go after the Templars if you’d rather not play the bait. It’s up to you.” He desperately hoped she would not go.

 

* * *

 

Regan saw Solas pacing outside his cabin, staring up at the breech, like if he scrutinized it long enough he could reveal its secrets and close it with a flick of his staff. She had to talk to him. His constant healing of her wounds could leave them in danger. If his mana was depleted and they were ambushed, he would at best be of little help and at worst be a liability. She had understood him healing wounds that could impede her, particularly when he had done so gradually over a length of time, but that wound in Redcliffe’s Chantry was purely superficial. It looked gory, but could have been safely dealt with later. They had plenty of healing potions, Adan made sure of that. Solas did not need to wear himself out so. This could not continue.

Solas seemed to sense her approaching, turning to face her long before they were close enough to speak.

“The Chosen of Andraste. A blessed hero sent to save us all.” The good natured humour in his voice startled her. It was clear Solas didn’t actually believe she was sent by the Maker. It was refreshing to be treated simply as someone who was elevated to almost god-hood by dumb luck rather than divine decree. When Regan was with Solas they were just… people, even if he did insist on calling her Herald.

“Solas we need to talk. You’ve been healing me after battles…”

“Is that not part of my duties when travelling as your companion? Do you wish me to not heal you?” he asked, the innocence barely masking his understanding.

“You know very well what I mean, Solas. In Redcliffe… in the chantry… you could have waited. We had no idea what we were facing. By healing me when you did you left yourself open. I won’t have you… I can’t have you injured for my sake.”

“I appreciate your sentiments, Herald, but we both know that is not the reason for my cleaning up your injuries before others have the chance to notice. I understand better than you know what it is like to be raised above others through no choice of your own… for simply doing what you believe is right, what you believe is needed…” he stopped himself short with a startling suddenness. “I have told you of my travels through the Fade. I have seen many rise and fall, both with valour and dignity and without. I would not see that happen to you. This world needs you. You know as well as I the role appearances play in politics. If your opponents think you weak that is damaging to your cause, but if your allies think you weak your cause will be irrevocably lost. If it sets your mind at ease Herald, I will ensure there is no danger within reasonable range before healing you. Do not ask me to stop, for I will not.” He turned briskly and walked back into his cabin, leaving unanswered questions thundering through Regan’s head.

 


	4. Red Flags

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan's hand is troubling her sleep and decision is made between seeking aid from the Templars or mages

Regan couldn’t sleep. She hadn’t since the conclave, not properly anyway. People kept assuming nightmares plagued her, but that wasn’t it. It seemed everyone had nightmares except her. She got out of bed and wearily walked to the window, using her right hand to push the heavy curtain to the side. It was the light. The blasted light! It wouldn’t leave her. Sometimes it seemed to permeate every part of her being. No matter where she camped, how far away from the breach she travelled, the light remained. She would have traded the light for nightmares in a heartbeat. Nightmares end.

Her hand glowed strongly when she slept, as if being in the Fade increased its power. The curtain was useless, the light was within her. It hurt beautifully. It would have sent her insane, she was sure of it, if it wasn’t for Varric. He was brilliant, truly brilliant! She had launched herself at him giving him the biggest, and only, hug she’d had since she left Ostwick. Kissing him several times on both cheeks and watching him turn an amusing shade of pink she wondered why she hadn’t thought of it sooner. A glove! Thank the Maker for gloves.

Laughing, Varric pulled her hands off his neck.

“Damnit, Herald! Stop hugging me… people will talk! Anyway, we couldn’t have you glowing like a bloody nightlight every time we camped!”

It wasn’t perfect, nothing was anymore, but it helped. A quick word to Harritt and she was presented with a wonderfully comfortable heavy knit wool glove, lined with a fabric suspiciously similar to Cullen’s cloak. Regan suspected no permission had been asked when the fabric was… borrowed, but when she held her hand near her face to sleep she felt comfortable and found she did not care.

 

* * *

 

“The Templars must help us close the breach. The order was founded to fight magic.” Cullen’s exasperation was evident in his voice. He felt that every time they met in the War Room they circled around the same issues. Losing his faith in the Order hurt him greatly, but the Order gave people the chance to do so much good and it was just throwing that chance away. The people of Thedas needed the Templars. They trusted the Templars and every day the breach went unanswered the Templars were betraying that trust.  

“The Lord Seeker made it clear he isn’t interested in anyone _unimportant_.” Regan still sounded bitter about the Templars refusal to aid them in closing the breach. Cullen found himself wishing he had spoken to her privately about how this whole situation was affecting her. His own crisis of faith after the Fereldan Circle had very nearly broken him. He’d thrown himself into his work in Kirkwall with such fervour that he lost sight of what was happening around him. After Kirkwall all he could see were his failings, all the things he overlooked. He felt like the world had come crashing down around him. Everything had become so personal. If only he’d seen sooner, done things differently, he could have stopped it. He had lost himself. The Inquisition was his chance to be the man he wanted to be, to set things right.

Everything had been happening so quickly that he hadn’t had the chance to think about Regan’s position much. They had chatted briefly here and there, and he had hoped she had been finding her place in the Inquisition. But to be thrust into the spotlight with so little agency… he hadn’t really considered that at all. Although she was spending her time garnering support and fighting for them she had very little say what she actually did. She was more agent of the Inquisition than part of it. Considering it wasn’t that long ago she was imprisoned in the cells under Haven’s Chantry, her very life on the line, it was amazing she spoke out as often as she did. Still, she did what she was asked, putting her own reputation on the line as ‘The Herald of Andraste.’ Even then, when the blame had been unfairly placed at her feet, she had put herself in danger to stop the breach growing.

She had asked for none of it and yet she followed their lead, believing they were doing what was right. Blind faith, well maybe not bind but certainly clouded. It was dangerous for her, to look back and truly see for the first time what you had missed before, he wouldn’t wish that on anyone, least of all Regan. It wasn’t enough to keep her safe, she had to feel safe. She had to feel in control of herself. He should talk to her. He wanted to talk to her. He would not see her suffer the way he had.

“We must change how they see us, no?” Leliana’s voice roused him from his ruminations. He wasn’t surprised. Even though her preference was to attract help from the mages he knew both she and Josephine were pragmatic. There was no doubt in his mind they already had a plan in motion.

“If it’s status the Lord Seeker seeks, the Inquisition will approach him after allying with the noble houses of Orlais.” Josephine was right, but even so, Cullen couldn’t help balking at the idea of getting assistance from Orlais. The civil war between Orlais and Feraldan was not so distant that old resentments had been forgotten. He’d grown up hearing horrible stories of the Orlesian occupation. He had to stop himself quickly. The Inquisition was beyond borders and he had no right to hold grudges from events that happened before his birth. His head was starting to fog over with unnecessary worry.

“You believe that will work?” he asked, taking more effort to control his breathing in an attempt to stave off a headache.

“Even the Lord Seeker would find it difficult to ignore so many nobles on his doorstep.” Cassandra certainly had a point. Even if the Lord Seeker wasn’t actively trying to garner power he would definitely be scared of losing the influence he already had.

“Yes, especially when led by the Herald of Andraste.” Leliana said, smiling as she turned her attention to Regan.

“Is it my good looks they need, or my winning smile?” Cullen knew she was joking, diffusing the trepidation she felt into humour, but he was worried. He hoped she could see that to them she was not merely a symbol. It’s true that without her status as Herald she would never have come to their attention and it was an exceptionally useful tool in their arsenal, but if she was not capable she would never have become more. For Leliana to suggest sending Regan to Therinfal Redoubt showed the trust and belief she had in her. Leliana would never leave something so important to chance.

“The Herald with a few companions may be dismissed. Easily set aside. That same Herald returning with noble support will be reconsidered, as will the power of the Inquisition.” There it was, the crux of Leliana’s plan. Even without success this expedition would be a show of the Inquisition’s growing prominence and surely could only serve to gather even greater support.

“Isn’t there the slightest chance the Lord Seeker will see my arrival as a threat?” Regan sounded confident, but as Cullen studied her face he could see fear hidden slightly behind her eyes. It was a lot to ask of her. So much could go wrong, and with so many angry armed Templars… Orlesian nobles wouldn’t be much protection.

Cassandra sighed deeply, taking a moment, before speaking, “Before, I would have thought he was a man of reason. Now, I could not say.”

“With respect, after his appearance in Val Royeaux, hang what the Lord Seeker thinks.” As far as Cullen was concerned the Lord Seeker was fast looking like another Meredith. He had no respect for the man.

“We do not need the Lord Seeker. We need his Templars, with or without his approval. The breach will not wait for our differences to settle,” said Leliana, as realistic as ever. To her the end result mattered far more than the path leading there.

Cullen was pleased, supremely pleased, that Regan had agreed to approach the Templars now. Though the situation with the mages had to be stopped they could first attempt to close the breach with the Templars. If it worked they could focus their attention on the threat of Tevinter power in Redcliffe, without the fear of the breach hanging over them. If Templar powers prove to be not enough then they could use the Templars to assist with gaining mage support. Templars would already be established in Haven when the mages arrived and surely with their powers combined the breach would be sealed. This was right, he was sure of it.

“Lord Abernach will approach you. Sign _nothing_ he offers, but his gossip’s reliable.” Josephine’s parting words left him with a seed of doubt. Visible danger was rarely the only source. He had to remind himself to be more aware. He found himself wishing he could accompany Regan. Surely some Templars would listen to him, maybe not all but enough, but he knew the Lord Seeker would never permit a voice as dissenting as his to be heard. His attendance would jeopardise the whole mission.

Still, this was right… it had to be.

 

* * *

 

‘Blasted rain,’ Regan thought, she hated rain. Well, she didn’t really. She just hated it when she had to do things, like be outside. The stone bridge leading to Therinfal Redoubt was slippery. Every step had to be taken with care. One slip and the Orlesians would see through her straight away. She had taken particular care to shine the green tinted gold dragon bone of her armour and daggers until they gleamed almost unnaturally. Adan had some truly wonderful potions hidden away. Varric had procured her some exceptionally fine leather polish that had worked wonders. She didn’t want to think about where he had found it, but she had noticed Cullen searching desperately for something and looking slightly more dishevelled than usual. She dreaded the thought of him looking inside her cabin and finding all his things that other people had appropriated for her. Not that he had any reason to be in her cabin, but still it worried her. When her dragon armour had been ordered by her parents she hated it. They took their image seriously, they had to, but still she didn’t feel like herself in it. She had relented to take it to the Conclave because she was acting as more than herself, as their representative. Ironically, she had never had the chance to wear it. After the conclave she had almost been convinced she would wear nothing else.  For a time, she had felt like herself again. Her confidence had grown as she travelled through the Hinterlands. Helping the refugees had made her feel like she was finally doing something, something tangible… something useful. The look on Leliana’s face after returning from the Storm Coast to tell her the Blades of Hessarian had pledged their support, to her and not the Inquisition, had her smiling for days. And now here she was again. Dragon armour on. Guard up. Feeling like she was an imposter.

“The Herald of Andraste! Lord Esmeral Abernache. Honoured to participate. It is not unlike the second dispersal of the reclaimed Dales. Nothing? I heard a Trevelyan or two took up the cause there. The Lord Seeker is willing to hear our petition about closing the breach. A credit to our alliance with the Inquisition. Care to mark the moment? Then Orlesian noble houses walk with you.” Right, that had to be Abernache. His voice reached her easily, carrying over the bridge long before she got to him. This was a man who liked to make an impression, who liked to be in charge. Well, accident or not, this was her mission and no matter what she would see it succeed or fail through her own deeds rather than being horned into a corner by others.

“Yes. Never before has anyone purchased such an inspiring veneer of kinship. It’s a grand day for genuine partnership and/or conditional servitude,” she replied, smiling the most sweetly reverential smile she could manage.

“Yes, yes, but I expect the Inquisition will still take the assistance,” he said, turning to walk along the high stone walls at the side of the fortress rather than continue towards the gates. Regan wished he hadn’t. The grassy slope was slippery. Whatever advantage her unexpected sarcasm had gained could be undone with a stumble.

 “Speaking of which, I don’t suppose you’d divulge what finally got their attention? Rumour will if you won’t.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Lord Seeker won’t meet us until he greets the Inquisition ‘in person’. Quite a surprise after the spat in Val Royeaux.” Strange, Regan had thought it was the show of noble support by the Orlesians that had swayed the Lord Seeker. To hear otherwise was troubling.

“The Lord Seeker may not be singling the Inquisition out for praise, Lord Abernache.” She couldn’t help but be pleased with herself for hiding the worry that surged inside her. Slowly they walked back up the slope to the large imposing gates.

 “Defensible. I like it. Someone worked out some issues building this place.” Regan had almost forgotten she brought Bull, she hadn’t heard him be quiet for so long since they met.

“It appears they’ve sent someone to greet you. Present well. Everyone is a little tense for my liking” Abernache was right. There was an almost visible air of uncertainty and apprehension. Regan had expected as much from the nobles, but seeing it so palpably in the Templars had her even more on edge than before.

 “The Lord Seeker changed his mind about us rather quickly. Is he known for that?”

“Perhaps he has a plan for us,” Solas always sounded like he knew the punchline before the joke had been told. Regan wanted to stop, turn around and march all the way back into the war room in Haven and ask them to send someone else. Why hadn’t Cullen come with them? Surely he would have had insider knowledge they could use.

 

* * *

 

“I present knight-Templar Ser Derlin Barris, second son of Bann Jevrin Barris of Fereldan. Ser Barris may I be so honoured as to present Lord Esmeral Abernache…”

“I’m the one who sent word to Cullen. He said the Inquisition works to close the breach in the veil. I didn’t think you'd bring such lofty company.” Regan tried not to laugh as the announcer was cut off halfway through their introductions by Barris’s lack of care for protocol. She ignored Abernache’s grandstanding and turned her attention more fully to Barris.

“This promise of status has garnered interest from the lord seeker, beyond sense. The sky burns with magic, but he ignores all calls to action until your friends arrive.” That was unsurprising, surely it just meant their plan had worked as they intended.

“The Lord Seeker does realise that’s a rip into the Fade hanging above our heads?” Regan still couldn’t understand how self-serving people could be, putting their own interests first when there was an ominous threat literally looming above them all.

“The commanders say he’s ‘considering the situation.’ Maker knows how.” Barris’s frustration and confusion was clear. “The Lord seeker’s actions make no sense. He promised to restore the order’s honour, then marched us here to wait? Templars should know their duty, even when held from it. Win over the Lord Seeker, and every able-bodied knight will help the Inquisition seal the breach.” Regan liked Barris. His frankness was refreshing. There were very few people who spoke with honesty when under the charge of a leader with whom they disagreed.

“I have a feeling the Lord Seeker will take some convincing.”

“I wish I could reassure you. Lately he sees no one but the officers. We’ve been asked to accept much, after that shameful display in Val Royeaux. Our truth changes on the hour.”

“Don’t keep your betters waiting, Barris. There’s more important work for those born to it,” Abernache interrupted, as if he couldn’t take being ignored any longer, gesturing for Barris to lead them further into the fortress.

“The Lord Seeker has a… request before you meet him. These are the standards,” Barris said, gesturing to three large red and gold flags on the high stone wall. “An honoured rite centred on the people, the maker, and the order. The Lord Seeker asks that you perform the rite so that he may see the order in which you honour them.”

“What if I fail?”

“There’s no ‘correct’ answer. The ritual simply shows watchers who you are and what you value.”

“Fancy title aside, I don’t actually command the Inquisition.” It constantly surprised Regan how many people she met thought she was in charge.

“That doesn’t seem to matter. The Lord Seeker changed everything to meet you. Not the Inquisition – _you_. By name.”

“Why?” Regan was growing increasingly suspicious the more she learned of the Lord Seeker. There was more to his flag raising ritual than simple pomp and ceremony.

“I don’t know. He’s been fixated on you ever since your horde of nobles arrived.” No, she definitely couldn’t complete it, she would be telling him too much about herself if she did. He knew enough already, everyone did.

“The Lord Seeker makes us shuffle flags around? Refuse, let’s meet the man already.” Abernache’s cynicism reminded her of his presence. She was not just representing herself here, or the inquisition, but also all the nobles of Orlais who had risked themselves to support them. She would not do it.

“The Lord Seeker can’t delay any longer Barris. Take us to him.” Regan tried to make it clear in her voice that she wouldn’t comply. It was best just to move on and let the chips fall where they may.

“The Lord Seeker’s request about the rituals was…“ Before Barris could finish Abernache had cut him off once more. Clearly still smarting from being so fundamentally ignored earlier, he would not risk any further damage to reputation.

“Horseshit, my servants might say – making you, and by extension, _me_ , do this busywork.”

“Right, the Lord Seeker can deal with this. Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

Arguments raged as they waited to meet the Lord Seeker, interrupted only by the sudden crack of a large wooden door opening.

“You were expecting the Lord Seeker. He sent me to die for you.” The already high tension in the room rose intensely. Regan didn’t recognise the man speaking, he hadn’t been with the Lord Seeker in Val Royeaux.

Quietly Abernache turned to her “He is not well.” he muttered, before making a subtle exit. She was glad he had left. This was obviously not going to go as they had expected, perhaps he would have time to send word of their changed circumstances.”

“Knight-captain Denam, I brought the Inquisition’s representatives. Will the Lord Seeker not see them?” Barris asked, making his confusion clear.

Denam ignored his question. “So, this is the Herald of change. You are why everything must be moved ahead.”

“Ser Barris, I'm right in assuming the Knight-captain has seen better days?” Regan asked Barris quietly. This was certainly not normal behaviour. Denam didn’t look… right. His face was marked, his hair unkempt and his skin seemed wrong. She couldn’t quite see why, but she could almost feel it. it was like there was something slightly too warm in the air.

“I tried to make us ready. I thought I knew the way.” Her worry was increasing with every strange line he said.

“Knight-captain I must know what’s going on!” Barris was yelling now, trying desperately to get through his unhearing rhetoric.

“You are all supposed to be changed! Now we must purge the questioning nights!” Purge did not sound good.

 “The Elder One is coming. No one will leave Therinfall who is not stained red!” Arrow shots punctuated the knight-captain’s words.

“Maker’s breath!” cried Barris, as the battle started in earnest.

Regan leapt at the knight-captain. Sending her dagger sharply down the neck of his armour and into his chest, and still he kept ranting.

“It’s _your_ fault, Trevelyan! He wants you, not us!” What would it take to stop him? His seeming lack of pain troubled her, something clearly wasn’t normal with this man. The clank of swords on armours as Templars fought Templars, coupled with the twang of Varric’s crossbow and swoosh of Solas’s staff coupled with Denam’s continued inability to shut up had her losing her focus. These Templars fought with a vigour and stamina she hadn’t encountered with the ones in the Hinterlands. Perhaps it was the more regimented training they would have whilst serving in the order. She hoped it was anyway.

“Is the knight-captain alive?” she asked, her breath heavy with the exertion of battle.

“Barely. If you use a healing elixir, he may survive. If he even deserves it.” Regan noticed something in Barris’s voice she hadn’t heard until now. Hatred.

“We’ll heal him. Let’s judge the knight-captain after we find his master.” Many Templars lay dead around them, and judging by the sounds from outside many more would soon follow. They had to act fast if they were to have any influence over the Templars beyond bloodshed. Regan instructed her companions, now joined by Barris, to gather any healing potions or elixirs they saw on their way, before running outside towards the sound of battle.

 


	5. The Green Eyed Thief

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan finds the Lord Seeker and battles with herself

 

The sounds of a chaotic battle drew nearer as they ran through the rooms of Therinfal Redoubt. These strange red Templars fought with a ferocity Regan had not yet encountered on her travels. Templars lurked behind every corner. It seemed that no matter where they turned or what path they took there were more. Waiting. Lurking. Climbing the large stone staircase of the fortress a voice seemed to echo all around them.

“Prepare them! Guide them to me!”

“Was that the Lord Seeker?” Regan asked, hoping it would give them some idea of where the Lord Seeker was waiting.

“… I didn’t hear him.” Why did Varric sound concerned?

They burst out into the largely barren courtyard. The sun shower almost blinding in its glare. Templars were everywhere. Coming at them and running away. Fighting each other. Regan didn’t know where to turn. Who to kill and who to spare. A wave of helpless nausea spread over her.

“I would know you!” the voice was more sudden this time. More commanding. It seemed to shake the world from within her. And yet… no one else seemed to react at all. There simply wasn’t time to care what the voice, the Lord Seeker’s surely, was saying. Regan gritted her teeth, squared her shoulders and disappeared in a puff of grey smoke. Back into the foray of battle.

“Show me what you are!”

She wanted to tell the voice to shut up. It was so distracting. As she ran to the door she could hear Templars begging their comrades to recognise them, but those with that strange red glow could not be reached. They were impassive, almost stone like, attacking with a vigour and hardness that was inhuman. Regan ran past them, using her stealth to its fullest advantage. It made her sick but they couldn’t help them all. There were too many. They needed to find the Lord Seeker as quickly as possible and put an end to this madness. It was the only way, their only hope, of saving anyone.

“You will be so much more!”

They ran towards a large building. Cutting down any red Templars as they went. Regan did her best not to harm any normal Templars and desperately hoped the others were doing the same. More stairs, up more stairs. She understood the defensive nature of building high into a mountain, but Regan hated stairs. Suddenly she was filled with the ridiculous hope that she would never live in a mountainous place with so many stairs. She wanted to laugh as she pushed the thought away. What an absurd idea to come to her as she was running for her life and at the same time towards the very thing that was trying to push her off the precipice.

The combination of stone and rain made her slide with every step as they ran ever higher. Ser Barris stopped and gestured towards a locked door. The Knight-Captain’s quarters. It was worth a try. Perhaps there was something they could use to their advantage. Some clue of what was happening here and why. The door creaked as it opened.

“That’s the Knight-Vigilant. The Lord Seeker told us he died at the conclave!” Shock was evident in Barris’s voice. Regan peered around his shoulders. A body lay on the floor of the Knight-Captain’s office, dressed in resplendent Templar regalia, the like of which she had not seen since her cousin was ordained in the order. An ornate dagger protruded from his back.

“I’ve got some bad news for him.” Iron Bull’s voice from the shadows was full of as much shock as it was humour.

Barris stepped closer to the body, kneeling down and gently closing the Kight Vigilant’s eyes.

“Was the Knight-Captain hiding the body for the Lord Seeker? Did he kill the man himself? Maker, what’s happening to the Order?” Barris sounded like he wanted to break down. Like he was just one more shock from the edge. There was no time. Regan needed answers.

“Ser Barris, what went on here?”

“Knight-Captain Denam told us the Knight-Vigilant died at the Conclave. Our officers hid a murder. Did they manipulate us for this ‘Elder One’ bullshit the Knight-Captain screamed about?”

“Do you know anything about this Elder One?” Regan asked. It was clear to her that the talk of the Elder One and the murder of the Knight-Vigilant must be connected. She just wasn’t sure how.

“No, Templars serve the Maker and the Light of Andraste. I’ve never heard of an Elder One before the Knight-Captain began ranting.” Barris’s voice was quiet, almost like in prayer.

As they left the Knight-Captain’s quarters, once more running towards the Great Hall, Regan mulled the situation over. They had more answers than before, but they had only led to more questions. They needed the Lord Seeker. He would know what was happening within his ranks. There was no doubt about that. The thought that he could be involved in something like this, though what it was she wasn’t yet sure, something that had led to the loss of so many people, made Regan felt sick.

“The Herald of Andraste! It’s time we become better acquainted!” The voice boomed again as they rounded the corner, facing the final flight of stairs to the Great Hall. They were almost there. All she had to do was ignore it and concentrate. Whatever it was, Lord Seeker or not, it did not matter.

“What do you think to accomplish? What will you become?” Regan was surprised. What an odd question. No. ignore it and concentrate.

Nothing could have prepared Regan for what she’d see at the top of those stairs. He was just standing there. The Lord Seeker. Standing there with his back turned. Waiting. The hair on the back of Regan’s neck bristled. This wasn’t right. It was madness to wait for them like this. Regan gestured to the others to fall back slightly and slowly walked towards the Lord Seeker.

His hand was around her throat faster than she could ever have imagined.

“At last!” he spat at her with a venom she had never heard before.

Her feet slipped from under her as he dragged her forwards. Her world faded away into a blinding white flash.

 

* * *

 

It was different now. Greener. Regan wasn’t sure whether her eyes were opened or closed. She tried again, blinking her eyes quickly several times. Large stone archways guided her forwards, the green glow rising from them sending a shiver from her hand up her spine. Flaming bodies lined the pathway like morbid torches. Whispers distracted her. Words just out of earshot. Regan was not sure whether she should be glad she couldn’t understand them or fearful of what they told. She tried to turn, to go another way, but every step led her back. There was no way but forwards.

Against an impenetrable wall stood Josephine and Cullen. Faces impassive and unmoving. The light seemed to warp around them. Moving and shifting in a way that didn’t seem possible.

A sudden loud gasp refocussed her. Leliana walked out of the shadows towards them, with the same emotionless face the others wore. Her eyes, once shining with a friendly but callous mischievousness, now seemed entirely cold.

“Is this shape useful? Will it let me know you?” asked Leliana, her voiced edged with an unnatural cadence. “Everything tells me about you. So will this: watch.’ As she spoke she walked behind Cullen, lifting his head and holding her knife to his throat. Her knife gleamed, showing the blade sharpened to an almost impossible point.

“A demon. Am I supposed to scream in terror next?” it took all of Regan’s courage to keep her voice steady as she asked. Her heart pounded in her chest so loudly she thought it would burst free. Knowing it was a demon didn’t make her any more willing to facing it.

Blood erupted from Cullen’s throat as the blade made its way across, staining his golden hair red and running in rivers down his chest. Regan’s eyes followed his body as it slumped on the cold overgrown ground beneath them. Her heart ached. It felt like it had stopped beating. It was like the demon had seen straight into her head. Right to her deepest fears that her actions would hurt the people she cared most about. She wanted to run to him. To pick him up and set the world right, well as right as it was before at least, knowing it wasn’t real didn’t make the pain any less.

The sound of her own voice forced her to look up.

“Scream in terror next,” the demon Leliana mimicked Regans words, before once again sliding back into the shadows, with a skill rivalling Leliana’s own.

Josephine walked forwards laughing cruelly and talking Leliana’s place, the golden fabric of her dress shining too brightly.

“Being you will be so much more interesting than being the Lord Seeker.” Josephine sauntered past Regan, disappearing as she walked up the human torch lit path.

Regan stared after her, only to suddenly hear Josephine’s voice coming from behind her. Regan couldn’t help but jump as she turned to face Josephine, who had once again faded out of existence.

“Do you know that the Inquisition can become? You’ll see. When I’m done the Elder One will kill you and ascend. Then I will _be_ you.” The smirk in the demon’s voice was palpable, Regan knew she had to keep the fear out of hers.

“I saw through your game. What else do you think you can gain?” Regan wasn’t sure she wanted to hear the answer as she watched the not-Josephine fade in and out of existence around her.

“You are under the mistaken impression that I require consent. Every reaction, every protest, is an answer. Glory is coming. And the Elder One wants you to serve him like everyone else: by dying in the right way.”

“Keep talking then.” Demon Josephine didn’t seem to like sarcasm, glaring over her shoulder as she stalked away.

“I am not your toy! I am Envy, and I will know you!” Cullen’s voice came sharp as a blade from behind her. Regan couldn’t help her eyes trailing to the spot where she had seen him fall, bleeding and dying, only moments earlier. His face was contorted in a rage like she had never seen before. His hand clasped the knife that had been used to slit his own throat.

Regan saw herself appear out of nothing before him. A colourless grey and powerless version of herself, with eyes that glowed an unnatural green. Dressed in the simple clothing she had been wearing when imprisoned in Haven after the explosion at the Conclave. She saw herself as she had been when her world fell apart. The green glowing mist swirled around them as this demon Cullen walked towards her, the deadly knife still in his hand.

 _This is not real_ , she kept telling herself, but it was hard to believe when this Cullen terrified her so. He was the man she had thought she always wanted turning into someone she could only fear. He stood behind the imitation of her.

“Tell me, ‘Herald,’ in your mind. Tell me what you think.”

Regan saw the knife plunge into her own back. She expected to feel the pain spread through her body, as she watched herself gasp and whither on the floor, but instead the greatest pain came not from where the wound would be but from watching Cullen act so mercilessly, so uncaringly, towards her.

“Tell me what you feel.” Demon Cullen had shifted away again, now leaning menacingly over the war table which had appeared from nowhere in the midst of the arches and overgrown grass.

A pained gasped echoed from behind her. A distraction. The demon had moved Cullen as a distraction. She turned cautiously around and saw herself appear behind her. The bright red of her own blood rushing out of the wound was shocking against the unnatural grey of her body and clothing. As she watched herself sink to her knees Regan felt something heavy appear in her hand. The knife. The very knife with which Cullen had stabbed her.

“Tell me what you see.” The demon demanded, stealing her own voice to taunt her. Regan threw the knife onto the grass, wiping her hands furiously on her trousers. When she looked up the stone wall blocking her path had disappeared, revealing a simple doorway in its wake.

Regan stumbled forwards, still reeling from the encounter with the demon, only to stop dead in her tracks upon passing through the threshold. There she was again, the unreal version of her. Chained, threatened and vulnerable. Kneeling on the floor of Haven’s dungeon, as she had been when she awoke after the conclave. The fear she had felt flooded back to her. Her life had hung in the balance for something she could not remember, let alone understand, with no possible way to explain the situation. She had been powerless. Guards stood circled around her, swords raised at the ready. She could hear Cassandra questioning her. Asking those same questions, she had been unable to answer.

The demon’s words echoed in her head. It wanted to know her. The more she showed it the less of herself she could claim. She had to keep going. Hide her weaknesses and vulnerabilities and press on. She would not let it know anymore of her fears.

Through the next door she saw herself as a tyrant. As she could be if she chose to. Her power and ambition left unchecked.

 _Don’t let it get to you, show it nothing_.

“Is imitating what you can’t have your only pleasure, demon?”

“Accusing… trying to find my weakness. Is that the woman you are?” it laughed inanely as Regan watched herself and the people around her burst into flames.

Regan ran on. Through seemingly endless archways and moving waterfalls of green fire. Through throngs of people discussing the tyranny of the Inquisition and the expansion of its reach.

“Do you see how glorious my Inquisition will be after you die at the hands of the Elder One?” The voice echoed painfully through her head. Loud. Too loud. Suddenly another voice cut through. Softer and calming.

“You’re hurting, helpless, hasty. What happens to the hammer when there are no more nails?” A second voice joined the argument. Softer, and calmer than the first.

“What are you? Get out! This is my place!”

The voices argued back and forth within her. It was almost like a respite, like they had forgotten she was there. The path came to a sudden end, a stone wall with a great cascading waterfall of green fire blocked the doorway in front of her, stopping her from moving straight ahead. On the side walls she found two identical doors. Without taking time to think Regan ran to the one on the left and carefully picked the lock. Disappointment flooded her as she flung open the door. There was no way out, just a strange giant inscribed stone carving of a face. Leaning in to read the inscription she felt a strange wave wash over her, like something inside her had grown. She felt more cunning than she had before, her confidence slowly starting to return.

The other door. That had to be the way out. Regan ran blindly towards it. Well, not quite blindly. She hadn’t touched one of the fire waterfalls yet and she wasn’t keen to find out what would happen if she did.

Regan couldn’t help but breathe in sharply when she opened the second door. It looked suspiciously like her room in Haven. The bed was where it should be… but the rest of the furniture slowly climbed the walls. Large wing chairs and end tables, with perfectly placed ornaments were suspended vertically around the room. Enormous tree trunks stood in each corner, as if the ceiling was suspended between them. Paintings hung upside-down and papers scattered across the celling, threatening to fall at any moment. The strangeness of the room distracted Regan. It was only as she scanned around, marvelling at the sight before her, that she realised. There was no way out of this room either. No hidden door. No secret passage. Just the door that had led her in. The door that had filled her heart with so much promise. Regan turned to leave, with one foot out the door…

“Wait.” The calm voice from before called her back. It was soft, like a young man, barely out of his teens. Unsure and self-conscious. Slowly, Regan turned. Looking back into the room she couldn’t see anyone. She walked back towards the bed, searching around with every step.

“Envy is hurting you. Mirrors on mirrors on memories. A face it can feel but not fake. I want to help. You, not Envy.” The voice appeared behind her again. Regan was able to catch a glimpse of the strange man before he vanished again. His voice shifting around the room, echoing off the walls.

“Who are you? I’ve seen you before. Have I?” Regan spoke softly, far more softly than she was known to. She felt uncertain. With no one to face she felt as if she was having a conversation with the walls inside her head.

“I’ve been watching. I’m Cole. We’re inside you. Or I am. You’re always inside you. It’s easy to hear, harder to be a part of what you’re hearing. But I’m here, hearing, helping. I hope.” His voice from behind her seemed to stay put, startling her when it didn’t echo away again. She turned, facing him, facing Cole.

The first thing she noticed was his ridiculous floppy hat. The brim defied gravity as he stood on the ceiling. He was young. Slight, too thin almost. He spoke at a slightly sped up pace, in pausing rushes, like he wanted to be understood… to be heard, before people stopped noticing him. He reminded Regan of her younger brother, Edmund, shy and unassuming, but full of ideas and constantly getting into trouble. Not quite understanding how to say things, getting it wrong, but only trying to help.

_Inside me? What did that mean? How could someone else, two someone elses be inside her mind?_

“Envy hurt you. Is hurting you. I tried to help. Then I was here. In the hearing. It’s – it’s not usually like this.”

“The least I can ask is that things make sense _in my own head!”_ It was almost like swimming through tar. Like she could understand if only she could keep up, but she kept falling behind.

Cole laughed as he replied, “It never works like that.” He was right, Regan knew it. Nothing had made sense in her head for months. Nothing since the Conclave had made sense. Her world had turned upside down and all the things she had thought she knew slipped out of grasp. She had avoided thinking, avoided understanding, for months. It had become too much, too hard. Now she wished more than anything she had thought beyond immediacy, beyond relying on others to lead her to the best decision. Alone inside her own head, with only herself and this strange boy for guidance, she felt truly terrified.

“I was watching. I watch. Every Templar knew when you arrived. They were interested, but not like the Lord Seeker.”

“The ‘Lord Seeker’ is an envy demon. It wants to be me.”

“Yes. It twisted the commanders, forced their fury, their fight. They’re red inside. Anyway, you’re frozen. Envy is trying to take your face. I heard it and reached out. And then in, and then I was here.”

“So you’re a spying phantom who accidently enters minds? Did I miss anything?” she asked, not trusting the strange creature who had appeared with all to convenient aid.

“If it bothers you, I can make you forget. That helps. No. you need all off you right now to fight. Maybe later.”

“How is my body frozen back in the waking world?”

“Thoughts are fast. We’re here. Outside, a blade is still falling, hanging in the air like a sunset.”

“If no time’s passing, does that mean I’m safe?”

“No, it would be good if you got out.”

She took a deep breath, trying to make sense of the situation. “Alright, ‘Cole’ can I get out the way you got in?”

“Yes, but I think you would die. It’s your head. You shouldn’t be out of it.”

“Then how do I evict everyone else?”

Cole walked across the bed towards her, determination painted on his face.

“All of this is Envy: people, places, power. If you keep going. Envy stretches. It takes strength to make more. Being one person is hard. Being many. Too many. More and more, and Envy breaks down. You break out.”

“So if we keep moving in my ‘head’ we tire Envy into submission?”

“Maybe. I hope it helps. It’s more than sitting here waiting to lose your face.” With that Cole ran out of the room, leaving Regan behind to follow.

 “This way,” he called as he ran. Regan ran after him. He was right, sitting around hoping to magically wake up in the real world wasn’t an option. Plus, his idea wasn’t too far removed from her own plan to try to find a door out of these cavernous stone rooms. Regan wasn’t sure she believed him, not yet anyway.

They stopped at the large green fire waterfall that had blocked her path before.

“Ideas are loud here. Think of water?”

“Think of water?” Surely he couldn’t think it was that simple.

“Yes.” It was worth a shot. Regan imagined water, cool and blue, flowing through her. Flowing from her.

Suddenly Envy’s voice pierced her thoughts.

“That thing can’t help you. I _will_ see more!” Envy’s maniacal laugh sent a shiver up Regan’s spine, but before she could panic the fire melted away and the door swung open. Cole disappeared as another blinding flash moved the world from under her feet once more.

 

* * *

 

Her eyes opened slowly, she hadn’t realised she had shut them when the flash came. As she focused on her surroundings, she found herself once more in Haven’s dungeon. She hated the place when she found herself there in real life. Memories of that day always brought the fear she had felt back fresh and new. To find the prison in her own mind was almost more than she could bear. Regan saw herself, run through with knives, splayed on the war-table. Cassandra and Rodrick argued over her corpse, caring not for the life lying lost beneath them.

“Betrayed allies will curse your name. Like the First Inquisition, you will bring blood and ruin and fear!” Envy’s taunting voice boomed from all around her, from within her.

“Unless you don’t. you don’t have to. None of this is real unless you let it be.” Cole’s voice washed over her like a cool spring, bringing renewed focus with it. Of course Envy was trying to taunt her, to break her. That’s how it would win. Regan could not, would not, let that happen.

“Get out, thing! I am learning!” Envy had sensed the shift in Regan’s resolve. It was not happy, frantic almost in its new relentlessness.

Running through the doorway Regan saw herself again, those strange green glowing eyes betraying the power and cruelty that lay behind.

“What do you say to your crimes, heretic?” Hearing herself speak with Envy’s strange intonation was disconcerting. But to see herself accusing Mother Giselle of being a heretic was almost laughable. A chill ran up her hands as she watched herself order Mother Giselle be taken to the gallows. Mother Giselle, who had been so kind to her, who had offered advice without judgment. She could not let it stand.

“Mother Giselle is no heretic.” Regan couldn’t resist succumbing to the taunt.

“Any who challenge the word of Andraste’s Herald will be corrected.” The demon’s voice rushed at her with a renewed vigour. Regan felt guilty at having taken the bait.

Running onwards she found the rooms leading off the hall filled with prison cells, all the people who had helped the Inquisition, who had helped her, locked inside. Hope drained from their faces. Their fates and those of their families sealed by a tyrant. Ruined by her.

Cole stood waiting in the corner of one of the furthest cells.

“It’s dark, but it isn’t real. Think of sparks. Keep going up. You’re more you there than you are Envy, and that tires it out.”

“Good I think.” Regan had just enough time to reply before he disappeared in a shower of green sparks, a torch lit with green fire appearing in his wake.

 _Dark, dark. Where was it dark?_ Regan ran back down the hall. She ran, retracing her steps. Back to where it had all begun. Back to the darkened cell she had waited in, cowering in fear, on her first days in Haven. With the torch in hand she found a key she had missed before. Large and gold. It looked important. Useful things were often hidden in the dark. Running back up the hall, towards where she had last seen Cole, she paused in each of the prison cells to light the torches she found there. She wasn’t sure why, but it felt important. Even if it wasn’t, she would not leave people to tremble in the dark, alone with their fear.

 A torch had appeared on the back wall of the hall. Regan lit it, with a slightly shaking hand, and stepped back cautiously as she watched the wall recede before her. The final cell held not only Josephine, but also a set of stone stairs. Regan laughed to herself when she saw them. Go up, that’s what Cole had advised. The choice between up and back was obvious. Finally, she felt like she was making progress, at least until another white flash ripped the world away from her once more.

 

* * *

 

She was getting sick of this. She found herself in a deadened forest. Dark, gloomy and covered in mist. That strange green glow seemed to follow her everywhere, like her mark had penetrated inside her head and coloured her thoughts. Sun-bleached skeletons hung from the trees, scraps of fabric, still hanging from their pitiable bones. She could hear two solders discussing the sacking of Val Roseaux. The Orlesian capital was burning. Regan had had enough.

“I saw your other lies, and I’ll escape this one, too.” She spat the words as she spoke, allowing her hatred of Envy to run free for the first time.

“Determination? Such a useful trait.”

Regan wanted to scream. She wasn’t scared anymore, well maybe a little, but she was royally pissed off. Envy was pushing her, and Regan didn’t like to be pushed. The more Envy pushed the stronger she felt.

“You’re letting the Herald see more to sketch her shapes. But what she sees makes her stronger.” Cole’s voice cut through their argument with a soft reassurance.

“Quiet!” Envy screamed back. That’s when she heard it. Something in Envy’s voice she hadn’t heard before. Fear. Cole was right. Cole was helping her. and Envy… Envy was scared. Not of Cole, but of her. she could do this. Regan ran on. Jumping tree roots and corpses, reminding herself with each step that none of this was real. Opening the last door Regan was relieved to find herself in familiar grounds, the courtyard of Therinfal Redoubt. It was changed, it was murky, but it was familiar. She could work with this.

“You wish to be difficult? Then see the legacy of the Inquisition!” Envy yelled at her. “Its followers hosts to demons! Your world – ashes! Show me what you’d do with them!”

Regan ran on up the large stone stair she had walked in the real world, only hours, minutes, days ago. Time had no meaning here, but it didn’t matter. She felt like she had finally found her bearings and Cole’s advice to continue upwards until Envy revealed itself suited her just find. At least in this world inside her head the rain had stopped. Regan wasn’t sure if she could deal with Envy and slippery feet.

“It’s angry, but that’s ok. So are you.” Cole’s voice urged her onwards, as she climbed higher and higher.

Suddenly she was back. Back where Envy had grabbed her. The large wooden doorway to the Great Hall loomed in front of her. Walking towards it she felt two hands grab her back and spin her around. Her eyes widened as she saw herself, with those disconcerting glowing eyes and greyed out colour, screaming in her face.

“Unfair. Unfair! That thing kept you whole. Kept you from giving me your shape!” The possessed version of her snaked its hands around her throat and lifted Regan off the ground. She struggled to breathe as her feet dangled beneath her.

“What could you gain from being me?” She choked the words out, the lack of air leaving her faint.

“What could you gain? What… ugh!” The demon’s mimicry of her slipped, but its glowing eyes felt like they were boring into her soul. “We’ll start again. More pain this time. The Elder One still comes.” More pain? Regan didn’t think she could handle more pain.

Cole appeared, constructing himself from black smoke, on the edge of the walkway.

“It’s frightened of you,” he said simply.

“Get out of…“ Envy was distracted for a moment, turning to face Cole’s accusations. Regan took her chance, grabbing the demon’s arms in her own and breaking its hold. She smiled at the satisfying crunch as she head-butted Envy, for the first time not caring when the world disappeared once again into a blinding whiteness.

 


	6. Body Double

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The final battle of Champions of the Just

Envy flew back from the force of Regan’s attack, no longer strong enough to wear the Lord Seeker’s form. Its fleshy pink body belied the horror within. Rising from the floor like a praying mantis, its body bent unnaturally underneath its own legs to turn its face towards Regan. Mouth opening wide, showing an inescapable blackness surrounded by jagged yellow teeth, releasing a glass shattering screech that broke through the continued sounds of exhausted battle from the courtyard. Dissolving in a puff of grey smoke turning to green light Envy fled the Great Hall.

“The Lord Seeker!” cried Barris, staring with dismay at the window through which Envy had escaped.

“No. An imposter.” Regan’s voice was clear. The battle inside her head had renewed her confidence.

Walking over to Barris she found she was mesmerised by the beams of light shining through the opulent stained glass windows. The storm outside was lifting, belying the danger luring behind the colourful panes.

“That monster ensured we weren’t prepared. I still don’t know what we’re up against.” Barris sounded mournful, lost.

Looking around the large ornate room Regan realized Cole had disappeared… again.

“Did anyone else see a young man appear beside me?”

“What young man?”

“Pale. Strangely dressed.” Regan scanned the room as she spoke. She owed Cole a debt of gratitude, without him she would surely still be battling the demons inside her head. “He was with me?”

“I saw no one. The Lord Seeker was alone when you revealed his true nature.”

“That fake Seeker was an envy demon. Apparently I caught its fancy.”

“Envy? Maker. Then the real Lord Seeker is caged or dead… and my captain knew. It’s the red lyrium, isn’t it? I knew that wretched stuff was risky! They often give us new kinds of lyrium. Our commanders… some used the red stuff first. To prove it was harmless. The knights would have been next. That demon turned our leaders so we couldn’t question when this started!” His voice cracked with the pain of his realisation. If they had known… if they had noticed… if they had just seen… this insanity may have never taken hold. All those lives, lost to the ashes of time.

“I can tell you first hand, it’s a clever liar. Bring your best to stop it,” replied Regan.

“Our best…” Barris strode purposefully to the nearest group of Templars, “Templar! What is Envy?” he asked, the command in his voice evident.

“A coward, brother!” They answered eagerly, though trepidation edged their words. “It studies, makes less mistakes. But most of all, it hides.”

“We need our veterans. Our commanders have turned, but the Lieutenants may still be fighting.” Barris turned sharply back to Regan, commanding strength shining through his words, “We’ll hold the Hall. You find the Lieutenants and the uncorrupted lyrium stores. Bring them here, and I'll give you Envy. Show those things no mercy.”

 

* * *

 

Following the sounds of the heaviest fighting soon led Regan and her party to the first two lieutenants. Running through the barracks she found many corridors and rooms, but no the third lieutenant nor the lyrium they needed. Rushing across a small courtyard she came to a locked door. A good sign surely, the lyrium perhaps? The red Templars were distracted. She had time. Signalling to the others to keep watch she lowered herself into a crouch in front of the keyhole. Carefully, she worked at the lock, she couldn’t afford to bend one of her picks so far from Haven. With a small click the door opened and they quietly slipped inside.

Pure white candles glowed around the edges of the stone room, illuminating the almost iridescent blood used to paint the all-seeing eye of the Seekers in ribbons down the walls. Papers were feverishly scattered across the floor. It was the most organised chaos Regan had seen in years. Like a distributed mind had exploded all their thoughts and left upheaval in their wake. The door closed, she heard the click.

As Regan’s eyes darted around, something shinny catching her eye. On a large table looming in the centre of the room, surrounded by candles, was a white stone bust with a knife buried deep in its face, holding a piece of paper aloft like a witness. She reached her hand towards the knife…

“The Elder one wants her dead.” Cole spoke softly, coming out from behind the strange display. “Empress Celene. He hates her. Haunts her. Wants her dead. But hides why. He hid other things, too.”

A sudden shudder drew Regan’s attention. The door swung open, like it had been pushed in a fitful burst. When she turned back Cole was gone. Gone again.

They ran. Back to the courtyard, with one lieutenant left to find. Iron Bull barely having to jog, Varric doing his valiant best to keep up and Solas remaining just behind Regan, his confident façade never crumbling.

The glow of the next room gave them a clue of what lay behind the door. Red lyrium reached the ceiling, so high it seemed to have grown there. Regan felt warmed as she passed it, the heat of battle surely, she told herself. It seemed strangely comforting. She wanted to reach out and touch it…

No. keep going. There just wasn’t time. They stumbled across the untainted lyrium they needed, almost by luck. Iron Bull carried it with ease. He barely seemed to notice they had it as they headed up the stairs towards the loudest battle sounds they could hear.

After a protracted battle the last lieutenant was saved they ran back to the Great Hall. Barris couldn’t hold it for much longer. Iron Bull using the lyrium chest to knock down tainted Templars as they went was a stroke of pure genius. He cleared a path for them almost without effort.

 

* * *

 

Barris raised the lyrium to his lips, its blue iridescence illuminating his face, drinking heavily. He briefly raised the ornate phial above his head in silent prayer before kissing the elaborate metal like the misty liquid held all his hope for the Templars.

The surviving Templars formed a circle around the alter. Kneeling with reverence, holding their swords strongly in front of them, the tips of their blades pressed into the ground.

Regan turned away, preparing for the onslaught of demons about to flow through the barrier. She didn’t know what to think. To willingly tear down the green glowing shield protecting them seemed like madness, but it was the only way to reach Envy. But the Templars… the Templars… after seeing firsthand what they had done to themselves how could she possibly trust them? They were about to put their lives in the hands of the people who has caused the destruction around them. It was only now that Regan truly realised what she had done. She had trusted Barris unquestioningly. Taken him at his word and followed it to the letter. The Templars had gone insane, just because he wasn’t glowing didn’t mean he wasn’t filled with the same insanity they were. Her team hadn’t questioned her, they trusted her. Varric, Solas and Iron Bull allowed her to lead them into this, and here they stood – outnumbered, surrounded and about to willingly flood an almost inescapable room with demons. This was madness.

Before she had time to collect herself the flood began. Wave after wave, demon after demon, she struck them down. Her blades moved faster than Regan ever knew they could. It’s truly amazing how fighting for survival, fighting through fear, can propel you forward, driving you closer toward the end, one way or another. And then, almost as suddenly as it began, it was all over. An earie silence filled the Great Hall. Chests heaved, breaths were sharp and short, blades hung loosely at their sides. Blood splattered the floor and their clothing, mostly not theirs, at least Regan hoped it wasn’t.

Barris called out something, Regan didn’t catch it, but she knew what he meant. The Templars looked drained, they were on their own. They ran, with a careful surety towards the large wooden doors at the rear of the hall.

 

* * *

 

“I touched so much of you. But you are selfish with your glory. Now I’m no one.” Envy’s strange reverberating voice echoed around them, before erupting from the ground like a fleshy limbed stick.

“Dark and desperate, death to make you alive. I used to be like you. I’m not anymore. You shouldn’t be either.” Cole’s voice washed over Regan , like a soothing balm, but his speech wasn’t directed at her. He was staring at Envy with an open-eyed fire she had never seen before. The fear she had been pushing to the back of her mind rose a little. With that he was gone. Regan couldn’t help but sigh, even if it was the worst moment. Cole’s disappearing act was getting old fast, and they could really use another hand in this battle. Maybe he didn’t fight, in all his brief appearances she’d never seen him lift a hand to harm anything.

Envy rushed towards them screeching with an otherworldly pitch. Her ears rang, but she ran forward, ducking under Envy’s legs to flank it from behind. The fight with Envy raged fiercely before suddenly corrupted Templars sprang from nowhere. In the confusion Envy disappeared briefly before reappearing in a manner that made Regan’s breath hitch in her throat. She ran behind a stone pillar, hoping for a moment to compose herself.

Surrounding herself in a vanishing mist she stared out at Envy, only to see herself staring back as tall as a giant and impossibly terrifying. It was like all the fears that had run through her mind when Envy had trapped her within herself had been brought to the fore. They were there in front of her. a cold, grey, ruthless impersonation of herself. Self-serving and power-mad, all the things she dreaded people thought of her.

She could feel the mist waning, taking her chance she threw herself out from behind her hiding place, blades spinning, slashing Envy with every turn. She had to end this fight quickly, before Envy drove her mad.

“No one knows you better than I, Trevelyan!” Envy screamed at her. Regan shuddered and stabbed envy in the kneecap. She twisted the blade, hoping the slight twinge she felt in her own knee meant that it hurt.

“Now no one will have you!” Envy kept screeching at her. Perfect. Every moment Envy spent trying to defend itself with words was a moment it wasn’t concentrating on its attack. Opportunities were slim, she had to take advantage of all she could.

When Envy made another burst of threats and angry declarations Iron Bull took his chance, driving from behind straight into Envy’s knees, knocking it to the floor. Varric’s bolt flew from Bianca, faster than any crossbow should be able to manage, pinning Envy’s shoulder to the ground. Regan leapt, with all her strength, pushing her blade through the back of Envy’s neck. The scream… the scream felt like it split her ears. Like the world was shattering around them… and then… silence. Just nothingness. Then is came rushing back all at once, their panting breath, the light fizzle of Solas’s healing spells and the drizzle of the rain.

Barris and Ser Abernache led the survivors out to meet them. More than Regan had expected, but less than she hoped, it was better than no one.

Abernache spoke before she had the chance to, “Herald! I sincerely apologise for losing countenance amidst the chaos. That was... unfortunate. I do hope it won’t affect our concord.”

To be honest Regan didn’t care, but she managed a brisk “Don’t worry, you’re needed,” before sending Abernache on his way. She hoped Josephine would be grateful.

The respite from battle returned strength to Barris’s voice. “The demon is dead. Andraste be praised! She shielded you from its touch. We’ve numbers across Thedas, but we let this happen. Our officers either failed to see it or were complicit. The Templars are ready to hear what the Inquisition needs of us.” It amazed Regan to see Barris’s faith was unshaken, even in the harsh reality of the situation they now found themselves in.

This truly was a decision she didn’t feel confident to make. Regan wanted to ask the others for advice, to refer them back to Leliana, Cullen, Josephine and Cassandra, for they were the true leaders of the Inquisition. She was just the accidental figurehead. Regardless, decision making immediately after a battle seemed a poor decision in itself. Regan took as deep a breath as she could without giving away her trepidation, and turned her head to look at the breach hanging in the sky like a beacon. Who was she kidding? This wasn’t a real choice. There was only one thing she could do, she just hoped it was the right thing. A speech, she’s have to make another, blasted, rousing speech without as much as a moment to prepare.

“If that thing hanging over our heads doesn’t terrify you, you’re braver souls than I. The Inquisition can’t seal the breach on its own. We need the Templars’ help. _Everyone_ needs your help.”

“You speak truths we never should have ignored.” Barris’s reply was full of regret. “But the Order is leaderless. Gutted by betrayal. We must rebuild it.”

“Your Order is a symbol that holds the people’s respect. That cannot die today. We offer you an alliance! Supplies, weapons, grounds to shelter you. All we ask is you help us close the breach.”

Barris turned to address his comrades in arms. “Do we take the Inquisition’s terms, brothers and sisters?”

The small crowd of Templars cheered their affirmation.

They needed the Templar Order, strong and confident. Trusting your life to people subjugated and jaded could never end well. But doubt still niggled in the nape of Regan’s mind.

 


	7. Faltering

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cullen deals with some demons of his own when reading the report from Therinfal Redoubt. Regan finds some strength and some warmth.

Reading the reports of Therinfal Redoubt Cullen felt abandoned. It was silly really, he had no right. He was the one who’d left the Order… and yet… he found himself shaken far more than he had any right to be. His faith, in many things really, had been shaken over the years. He’d seen his fellow Templars, his brothers… his friends, do great wrongs. But to see them treat each other this way, it felt different. His head was aching, a dull throb being brought sharply to the fore.

He found himself thinking about a conversation with Regan soon after they’d arrived in Haven. He hadn’t felt young when he joined the Templars at thirteen, but how much had he really known? He dreamt of being a knight saving the world… protecting it, and now every time he turned around he saw Templars tearing it down. They had been his heroes all his life and he followed them, faithfully, through disaster and ruin… until Kirkwall. All those young Templars in training, children, some younger even than he had been, what had become of them? He had seen no mention of them in the reports, but they were there. He knew they were there, carried along into destruction like all the others who trusted blindly. He could have been one of them, easily. He very nearly was. He couldn’t stop his mind wandering back to Kinloch Hold

 He had trusted them blindly. She was right. He had been too young to truly know what he was joining.

It warmed him to know some good Templars remained. Ser Barris had rallied the survivors with a purpose. Clever, that man was clever. He was glad he had been there to look beyond the surface and see there was a problem, even if he didn’t know exactly what it was. If the Templars had been made of people like Ser Barris the world would be a very different place. But they aren’t. and the world is what it is. You can’t pick the cards you’re dealt, only how you play them.

He was shocked when he saw his own name written in Regan’s report. Its tone was the same as all her reports, clear and detailed, with her opinion interjected throughout. Her hand writing was simple and legible, giving way to the occasional ornate flourish he suspected she had perfected during her schooling. But here, where his name was he thought he saw a shaky uncertainty he rarely saw in Regan herself. He couldn’t fault her. Battling a demon inside your own head was the sort of thing that gave him nightmares. Reading that she had seen herself laid out dead one moment and as a tyrannical monster the next was terrifying in itself. To actually live through it, relatively unscathed, was remarkable. But the shakiness at his name, where his throat had been slit in front of her… where he… he… had stabbed her in the back, it sent his mind reeling.

He knew after reading this his sleep would be disturbed, even more than it was normally, for some time to come. He wished he could talk to her. To tell her he knew... but he couldn’t… he didn’t have the words.

He was grateful. At least Regan had given the Templars a chance. He wasn’t sure he would have done the same.

 

* * *

 

When Regan walked into the war room he was glad to see her looking more like herself than he thought she would. They had given her the time to clean herself up, see a healer and sleep, if she could manage it, before calling this meeting. It seemed to have done her the world of good. She looked calm and controlled. He was glad.

The mood in the room was dark. Different. He searched the people around him carefully. Cassandra and Josephine seemed to be on edge. He stopped when he reached Leliana. She was fuming. He hadn’t known her long, but he knew her well enough to know this could be dangerous.

“What you found in the Captain’s quarters means the officers willingly blinded half their knights with red lyrium.” He spoke directly, hoping to move the conversation forward. To show he knew as well as they did how far the Templars had fallen.

“Even _before_ some of them realised the Lord Seeker was replaced by a demon.” The sneer in Cassandra’s voice was obvious.

“Which put us in a position to demand more from our alliance. You should have consulted us first.” Leliana was furious. Her voice rose slightly and deepened with anger.

Regan didn’t speak immediately. The pause was too long. She should have spoken sooner. He lifted his eyes from the map on the war table, his go to safe place in the war room when he felt unsure, and looked at Regan, trying to hide his worry. People only disappointed Leliana once. He wanted to jump in and say something, anything, but he knew that would only make it worse. When she finally started to speak he felt his relief physically wash over him.

“It was chaos! I couldn’t keep the Templars in the courtyard while I searched for a messenger bird.” The gentle derision in her voice disarmed Leliana. Cullen could have sworn he saw Leliana’s eyes twinkle with humour, but her face remained hard. It was so rare to see someone talk back to Leliana. Cullen had heard the stories, but he had never seen it for himself, although sometimes Josephine came close. Regan was right of course, he knew himself that sometimes decisions just have to be made. There is no time to plan the best course. You just have to decide and hope you made the right choice. If you were wrong… well, then you work with the choice you have made.

Josephine almost completely hid her half laugh when she spoke. “An alliance with the Templars _was_ our desired outcome. May we discuss their imminent arrival?” lifting her eyes deliberately to Leliana’s. A short conversation seemed to flicker silently between them.

“A few dozen veterans are coming ahead of the rest. To help seal the breach.” When she spoke again Leliana’s voice was back to its normal gilded lilt.

“How soon until these veterans arrive?” Regan asked, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

Suddenly a blast of grey, slightly shimmering, smoke from the middle of war table interrupted them. A young man unfurled himself from the puff.

“They’re almost here. Templars don’t like to be late.” He said in an unusually soft melodic voice.

Cullen drew his sword, quickly, making his way to Regan’s side.

“Maker!” he cried, raising his sword into the air. Poised and ready…

“Wait!” Regan bellowed. Cullen paused for a moment, lowering his sword slightly, before continuing to edge around the table towards Regan, Cassandra subtly mimicking his movements.

The boy began to speak again “I came with you to help. I would have told you before, but you were busy.” He sounded more unsure of himself than when he first appeared.

Regan paused briefly, a flicker of confusion crossing her face, before speaking “You were following me in secret, Cole? All the way to Haven?” she sounded incredulous and amused.

Wait, Cole? The Cole from Regan’s reports? Cullen hadn’t thought he was real, a figment of the demon’s attempts to possess her. But the strange boy was here, in front of them on the war table. Standing on his carefully placed map of Thedas, his silver troop markers lying scattered around this Cole’s feet.

“Yes, it’s easy to make people forget when they don’t expect you to be there.” Cole replied, before lowering one leg and then the other over the edge of the table and jumping down.

Cassandra stepped forward, sword sharply pointed at Cole.

“Call the guards. This creature is not what you…”

“A moment please, Cassandra.” Leliana interrupted quickly. “I would like to hear why he came.”

“You help people. You made them safe when they would have died. I want to do that.” He sounded slightly panicked now, like this wasn’t going the way he had expected at all. Staring up at Regan his eyes were wide under his ridiculously widely brimmed hat. “I can help.”

“Why and how would you help the Inquisition?” Regan asked.

“This hole in the sky is too loud for spirits to think. It’s pulling, pushing out pain. I want to stop it.” Cole sounded earnest, almost endearing.

Why was Regan entertaining this… this thing that could appear from nowhere and change the room? They needed help, but surely there was a limit. Some people’s help was more of a hindrance, even when they don’t mean it to be. She would say no and send him on his way, surely she would.

Cassandra’s sharp voice drew his attention “How altruistic of you,” she said with a sneer of contempt and disbelief.

“I want to help. I can be hard to see. I can kill things that would hurt people. I won’t get in the way.” The boy was almost begging now, pressing his point. Cullen felt a pang of guilt twinge. He was reminded of himself all those years ago, begging to be a Templar, wanting desperately to save the world.

“Cole saved my life in Therinfal. I couldn’t have defeated Envy without him.” Regan was backing him up. If her reports were completely factual Cullen knew it was likely Regan would still be battling Envy inside her mind, or worse, if this Cole hadn’t come to her aid. But how? How did he help her, how did he guide her from within herself? Something wasn’t right.

Cassandra was clearly not convinced either, “But what does he want now?” she asked dripping with scorn.

“I think he really is trying to help,” replied Regan simply, as if that alone was enough.

“I won’t be in the way. Tiny, no trouble. No notice taken unless you want them to.” Cole sounded earnest. He was childlike and vulnerable. Trusting, just wanting to do something good, anything good.

Wait! What was happening? Regan couldn’t do this. It was insane. Cullen had to say something.

“You’re not honestly suggesting we give him the run of the camp?” he asked, looking her squarely in the eye, his anger seeping to the surface.

Cullen was surprised when the answer came not from Regan, but Josephine. “Not freely, perhaps, but it seems a waste to…” she stopped herself short, looking around the room wildly. “Hold on!” she gasped as a small chiming noise interrupted and Cole completely disappeared, not even a smoke cloud left in his wake.

“Where did he go?” asked Cassandra, panic tinting her voice.

Regan laughed. “It’s a good trick. You get used to it.”

Leliana seemed completely unfazed “We must see if he can teach it to anyone else,” she entreated, seizing any opportunity as usual. Cullen didn’t like it. He didn’t think it was a good trick at all, useful perhaps, but not good. “I’ll have people watch the boy, but let’s not be distracted from the breach,” Leliana continued, before looking over to Cullen and moving the conversation on.

“We’ll need our help when the Templar veterans arrive. Take time to prepare while you can,” he said, turning towards Regan. He wanted to tell her to be careful, to not be complacent in victory. To tell her he knew what it was like to rage war from within yourself, to fight the demons within your own mind. But instead he just turned and walked away.

Wrapping his red cloak around himself, and starting towards the door, he stopped, feeling his hand down towards the hem. He could have sworn it had gotten shorter.

 

* * *

 

Snow caught Regan’s feet as she walked back to her cabin. She had taken a side path, away from the commotion of the arriving Templars. She didn’t want to deal with them, didn’t want to think about them. She had defended them, given them another chance, but she didn’t trust them. You would have to be mad to after what they had done to themselves… to each other. How many of them had known and not said a word?

She slipped through her doorway as quietly as possible, hoping no one had seen her. She didn’t want visitors, not now, maybe not for a while. Leaning her back against the door, she clicked the latch behind her. She felt herself start to shake, unable to stop it. Adrenaline had kept her going for so long and now it had disappeared in a sudden crash. The meeting in the war room hadn’t gone as she’d expected, that was making it worse. She had geared up for a major fight about her decisions, preparing her defence the entire journey back from Therinfal Redoubt, but it hadn’t happened. There were glimpses from Leliana and Cassandra, but nothing like she had thought. All the energy she had built up had nowhere to go. Finding it hard to keep her legs steady she stumbled to the edge of the bed.

It scared her. Everything that happened in Therinfal terrified her. All those Templars, all those people, following their orders with the joy only those who truly believe in the good of what they are doing felt.  It made her sick. They were just doing what they were asked, trusting those in charge to lead them in the right direction, no matter how blindly they followed.  The red Templars were empty, used, no shred of who they once were to be seen. It was like something out of a nightmare. The people had disappeared, leaving behind an anonymous shell.

She hated it because she feared it’s what she would become, an empty version towing the Inquisition along and giving away all of herself in the process.

The first decision she had made entirely on her own since the Conclave had been what to do with the remaining Templars after Therinfal, and they all knew that was only because no one was there to make the decision for her. Her first thought had even been to try to hold off the decision until she could send a missive asking for advice to the Inquisition. She had trusted them just as blindly as the Templars had their leaders. Her relief at surviving the Conclave, waking in those dark damp cells, and those terrible fear filled days that followed, had clouded her judgement. These people had threatened her life and now here she was following their advice as she acted as some sort of proxy figurehead, spreading a message and carrying out orders she didn’t always agree with.

No, no more. She couldn’t keep doing it. She just couldn’t.

It wasn’t so much that she didn’t trust the others or didn’t want to trust them, because she did, even after all that had happened… all they had put her through. But Regan had to make sure that decisions made in her name were her own. She knew now this would be her legacy. This would be what she was remembered for, so it had to actually be her they remembered. She would not tear someone down to build herself up, and she would not let others do it through her. She would never be like Knight-Captain Denam.

Her head felt heavy.

Sighing she stood up, slowly unbuttoning her coat. She had dressed reasonably comfortably for the meeting, but the feeling she got taking off her hunter’s leathers and slipping into her nightgown was exquisite. She slid into her bed. She could have sworn it was softer than the last time she had slept in Haven. It was still cold though, so bloody cold. She hated this weather. Longing for summer was pointless this high in the mountains. Hopefully as the Inquisition grew they could move their base somewhere warmer. Hell at this point she’d be happy anywhere she could walk through the camp without trudging through snow.

As she closed her eyes she felt a light mist of smoke float over her.

Cole’s soft voice came out of the slightly shining shadows, “Your glove,” he said gently.

With a smile she reached into the drawer of her bedside table and pulled out her makeshift glove. As she slid it over her delicate pale hands she settled herself back in her bed, pulling the covers up tightly around her and resting her newly gloved hand by her face.

“Go away Cole, I’m fine,” she mumbled. Closing her eyes again she was suddenly more tired than she had felt before.

“I was just checking.” As Cole spoke his voice seemed to drift further and further away.

“Thank you.” She whispered back into the darkness.

Regan nuzzled her head further into her pillow, the faint scent of spiced apples making her feel warm.


	8. The Calm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Regan faces the fallout from Therinfal and plans her next step

Regan woke slowly. She hadn’t slept so well in a long time. It was strange, she had expected the fretful fitful sleep she had become so used to since returning from Therinfal. Instead she dreamt of home, of warmed spiced apple cider by the fire surrounded by her family. It had always been her favourite thing about winter. The first snow brought with it lazy evenings in each other’s company. She missed them desperately, but somehow they didn’t seem so far away anymore.

But she was still so tired. Lately, no matter how much sleep she had by the end of the day she ached to crawl back into bed.

She dressed quickly, desperately trying to make the heat from her bed last just a just a bit longer. Reaching down to pick up the coat she carelessly dropped on the floor the night before she spotted something strange in her little fireplace. Kneeling on the tiled hearth she pulled a small metal pot off the still warm ashes. Inside was what looked like the remains of two half burnt apples, perhaps a cinnamon stick and some unidentifiable black things. It smelt sweet and comforting. It smelt like home.

Who left it there she didn’t know, but it brought a smile to her lips. It felt good having someone do something just to brighten your day.

The sun, high in the sky, peaked through her heavy curtains. It was later than she’d expected. With a small sigh she put on her deep blue august ram leather coat. If enough of the Templars had finally arrived they would have to make plans to try closing the breach tomorrow. Best case scenario, it would work and they could then focus on freeing the mages from that Tevinter Magister without demons constantly popping out of the sky. If it failed… well… they would go get the mages and try again. With the combined power of the mages and Templars surely they could close the breach. It had to work. It was their best plan. It was their only plan.

 

* * *

 

Regan knew she shouldn’t hide. It wasn’t the most viable of long term strategies. She tried to keep walking but the big heavy wooden doors and the candlelit quiet beckoned her in. she was alone, and it was perfect. Blissfully quiet. She closed her eyes, just for a moment, and then… a voice. Regan had forgotten First Enchanter Vivienne had taken up permanent residence inside the chantry.

“There you are my dear,” she said coolly, walking part way out of the shadows. Her assumption Regan would yield and deferentially meet her where she stood was clear.

“Good morning Vivienne. Are you well?” Regan enquired in her most polished noble tone, noting Vivienne’s small smile of approval as she made her way to the side of the chantry where she waited.

“Quite well my dear,” replied Vivienne, who carried on pretending she was unaware of how little Regan wanted to have this conversation. “It was good you saved as many Templars as you did, my dear. We will need every Templar. But they will require proper management.”

Vivienne was right, of course, she always was. Still, Regan found she just couldn’t be made to care about the Templars supply of lyrium. Cullen would have it sorted out already, or at least fairly quickly. He would allow any member of the Inquisition forces to go without the tools they needed, Templars and lyrium included. Besides, Regan’s mind was still running wild with ways to free the mages from that Tevinter Magister. She hadn’t known Vivienne long, but had already found it was best to just let her talk.

“The breach has done more than disfigure the sky. The veil itself is broken. All mages, no matter how skilled, are now in danger of drawing demons to them. Before this crisis is over, you may find that Templars, as flawed as they may be, are all that stands between us and chaos.”

“You have a low opinion of your fellow mages.” Regan kept her voice conversational. _Careful_ , she reminded herself. Vivienne’s support would be useful, it was by no means necessary, but throwing it away out of pettiness would be nothing but stupidity.

Vivienne didn’t bother to try to keep the scoff out of her voice as she spoke. “It’s not so much an opinion as grasping the obvious. Magic is dangerous, just as fire is dangerous. Anyone who forgets this truth gets burned.”

This was Regan’s chance, remind Vivienne of the Tevinter pushing its fingers into the mages. Remind her she was losing control. “I don’t think the mages of the imperium would agree with you,” she said with a small smile.

“Drunkards rarely agree to stop drinking. I wouldn’t use them as role models. Do you know how young mages are found? A little girl has a nightmare, and in her sleep, she burns her house down. A teenage boy has a fit, and lightning rips his mother to pieces. Imagine your own childhood and what would have happened if the darkest corner of your heart had a will of its own. People don’t learn the fear of magic at chantry services, my dear. They learn it from us. Tell me something. As you will no doubt have a hand in shaping it, what future do you see for mages?”

Anger and scheming. Good, perfect. Just the reaction Regan had wanted. “Mages shouldn’t be kept out of the Chantry. Who knows the danger of magic better than a mage?”

“A curious idea, such twists and turns your mind takes. It’s something to consider my dear. I’ve stolen enough of your time, my dear. Don’t let me keep you.” Vivienne sharply turned away, not deigning to wait for a reply.

Regan seized her moment too, quickly heading back out the imposing wooden door she had wandered through only moments before. Her head spun as she stared into the blinding glare white snow at her feet. The darkest corners of her mind come to life. It was a dangerous thought. A part of herself she rarely ventured into. Since the conclave it had been growing. Blacker, darker, deeper. The pain. The blinding green light. The overwhelming fear. Sometimes it felt like they were all twisting into her. Fuelling and breaking her. It had been much worse since Therinfal, Envy had brought it out. Reaching into her and pulling out the pieces she had pushed away.

There was no time for this. No time for wallowing inside herself. She needed to move on to the next part of her plan to save the mages. Her run in with Vivienne, though frustrating, had been useful. The mages were Vivienne’s life, they were her power, she wouldn’t lose them in a hurry. Though accidental, it had been a good place to start. She was easy to convince, no harder than convincing her siblings to play the games she had wanted as a child. But convincing the others…  she had nothing. Besides, they had the Templars now, would they see the need for the mages too? If attempting to close the breach with the Templars failed it would be easy, clearly more magical power was needed. But if it worked… then what. From her talks with Leliana she knew she would have some support from the Inquisitions leaders no matter what occurred in the next few days and Josephine shouldn’t be too hard to convince, anything that could be used to strengthen their political position would win her favour. But Cullen… he had an aversion to mages stronger than many she’d seen. He tried to hide it. He conversed with the few mages with the inquisition, Regan had seen him talking to Solas, but he had looked nervous and watchful each time, finding a way to excuse himself as soon as possible. Stopping Tevinter gaining hundreds of new mages was a start, it wasn’t much, but for now it was the best she had. At least it was something they could all agree they did not want.

 

* * *

 

Regan loved the snow, but right in this moment there was nothing more she wanted than to rid Haven of its white blanket. It was fun at first, all shiny and new. But now anything else would be better. Well, almost anything, she could also do without the rain that followed her on every expedition to the Storm Coast. Rain and armour, even simple leather hunter’s armour, was not a fun mix. She was so cold. She was so sick of it all. She was so tired.

But there was something about the snow she always loved no matter how long it lasted, which was lucky because the snow in Haven seemed like it was never ending. The footprints. The little divots in the snow that followed people around the camp. True, it was hard to walk in, but those footprints were like little memories they could all secretly share. Moments blurring into one another. Leliana’s pacing around when deciding the fate of her traitorous spy. The Chantry Sister’s footsteps leading her to Iron Bull’s tent, their corresponding return journey not appearing until late the next morning. Even Regan's own circle around Haven, consulting her team after any major excursion. Party because she wanted reassurance she was moving in the right direction, but mostly because she wanted someone to just talk to, like a normal person. Varric was good for that, so was Iron Bull. Cassandra and Sera had a total honesty that she respected, even if she wasn’t always fond of it. Some of the others were hard work. Solas in particular always seemed to be saying something just beyond her grasp.

He seemed to like to have short burst of conversations, rather than the long winding ones Regan favoured. Perhaps he just needed time. Talking to him about Therinfal today was hard. It was clear he didn’t want to talk.

He certainly made it clear he did not approve of her bringing the Templars in as an ally. “Remember, an enemy can attack. But an ally can betray you. Betrayal is always worse,” he said with a calm surety. Templars could not be trusted.

It wasn’t surprising, his dealings with Templars would surely have been less than amicable. Regan couldn’t blame him for that. After what mages had been through over the centuries many people had sympathy for them. But, whether it was a rogue mage, as some reports seemed to suggest, or a larger conspiracy, destroying Kirkwall’s Chantry and razing the city tarnished them all.

Perhaps he was right. Regan had hoped closing the breach would end this Elder One’s plans, as naive as that hope was, but they would need to be prepared if it didn’t. As far as she could see it was even more reason to partner with the mages. If the Elder One survived closing the breach he was more powerful than they were prepared for.

Regan continued her typical path around camp down the stone steps towards Varric’s reassuring fire. She stopped short when she found Cole standing in the corner by a market stall. Moppish hair hidden by a truly enormous hat, staring intently up at the breach in the sky.

He wasn’t happy with her either. She was sensing a trend.

Cole’s voice was soft, melodic and sweet. Even so, Regan could clearly hear his unease and anguish over her decision. “You took in the Templars. You let them stay in strength even after what they did. Their own people. It’s dangerous when too many men in the same armour think they’re right. You should prepare. It’s already getting louder.”

Louder… that was worrisome. What was louder? Cole didn’t know. Regan found that hard to believe, he seemed to sense things before they happened. In Therinfal he had been integral to her survival, knowing just what she needed to keep herself stable in the wash of her mind. She tried to press him on where he came from, but everything she asked seemed to distress him. Frenzy him.

She couldn’t help worrying about him. He seemed so in need of protection, so fragile. Regan didn’t know what to do, she was used to talking with people to help them but trying that with Cole seemed to do the opposite of what she intended. Perhaps time was best. He was new to Haven, new to the Inquisition and he seemed so sheltered. She gave a polite friendly goodbye and continued her usual path to Varric.

He had clearly been waiting for her. Standing by his fire, a statement already on his lips. Regan smiled, warming her hands over the welcoming flame as light snow started to fall.  The friendly chat she had been counting on was sadly not on the cards today. The jokes were there, as was his favoured jovial tone, but they did little to hide the determination in his voice. What he had to say today was important, and she would listen. Although afterwards she wished she hadn’t.

She had been so caught up in her plans she hadn’t given it much thought, but she’d been wilfully ignoring the glaring danger sign that had popped up. It was understandably obvious to him, from what she’d heard red lyrium had been the cause of many of the troubles in Kirkwall. It was no wonder he was so concerned with the lyrium at the conclave and now at Therinfal. Her futile wish it was a coincidence seemed unlikely now. To use it on purpose after what they knew of it was simply madness. To ingest it… Regan didn’t know what was worse than madness, but if anything was this was surely it.

After the breach was sealed and demons had stopped raining down on them. After the mages were freed from servitude to Tevinter. When those minor, simple, non-terrifying and certainly not filling her sleep with fitful nightmares, issues were dealt with she would push to find the source of this lyrium and stop its damaging flow through Thedas.

Frustration was starting to creep in. She kicked the snow up in little puffs as she walked down the steps towards the training yard. She didn’t want to walk to talk to Cassandra and face that anger. Avoidance wasn’t clever, she’d have to talk to her eventually and soon. They needed to get back to planning. It was better to get it over with, face her head on and just defend her decision calmly, convincingly and eloquently.

Or… she could talk to Iron Bull.

“It had to be demons. Getting into your head messing around.” The small violent grunts he punctuated his sentence with amused her. he sounded like a riled up puppy.

She knew she shouldn’t say it, but she couldn’t help herself. “For all you know, the demon never stopped. And this is all in your mind.”

“Oh for… now I’m gonna spend the rest of the day thinking about it! Thanks. Anyway, with the Templars on board, hopefully we can close that breach. Damn thing gives me a headache just looking at it.” Regan laughed. Riling up Iron Bull was fun. He seemed to immovable, so in control of everything. Moments when you could peak behind the mask and see him, just him – not the Qunari, not the Ben Hassrath – just Iron Bull, were comforting.

The last of her amused smile fell from her face when she turned around. Perfect. Great, Cassandra was angry. Well, she was always some degree of angry, but right now she was visibly seething. If the snow around her started to melt Regan wouldn’t have been the least bit surprised.

There was no more avoiding it. She could hardly waltz passed Cassandra, who had definitely spotted her, and disappear back into the safety of the camp walls. There was no way out without making it far worse, but watching Cassandra tear into their new Templar recruit certainly didn’t make it any easier.

Regan walked towards her, slowly and calmly, arriving just as the Templar stormed away.

Cassandra’s eyes bore down at her, but her voice was civil, friendly almost. “It never ends, evidently.”

“You don’t need to tell me that.” Regan replied, stunned.

“I just don’t know who told them I’m the one to yell at.”

Regan desperately, so desperately, wanted to say _I know how you feel_ , but she held her tongue. Comfortable politeness has been better than she expected and she was keen to keep it going. “Is it that bad?” she asked.

“The Templars need to learn they have other uses than hunting mages. It’s not easy for them. it is your doing after all. You created this alliance.”

It was beginning “I had to think on my feet and I did what I could,” Regan replied defensively.

“Oh. I do sound like I’m blaming you, don’t I? I don’t disapprove. In fact, you did well. You made a decision when it needed to be made. And here we are. I wish I could say this was my doing.”

Regan could have cried. All that stress all that worry and Cassandra was… proud of her. Proud didn’t seem right, but it was certainly something in that vicinity. Not what she had expected at all. Regan was so lost in her head, thinking back over their conversation, she almost walked past Cullen and continued up the seldom used path running alongside Haven’s walls.

Cullen walked over to her, so they could be heard above the constant clashing of swords from the perpetually training forces of the inquisition. “Cole – or whatever he calls himself – may have helped at Therinfal, but that doesn’t mean we should trust him.”

That irritated her more than she imagined it would. “I thought we agreed Cole could stay?” she asked. He could stay and he would stay for as long as he wanted. He saved her life. She owed him that much and she trusted him.

“I did not agree… I was outvoted. I suppose my concerns can wait. We must focus on the breach. The Templars are making final preparations. After what happened with the Lord Seeker, they’re eager to prove themselves.”

“After what I went through to get them they’d better be.” It was the truth, and he needed to hear it. They didn’t have time to placate the feelings of what would be their most vital unit. They had to be ready.

“What happened at Therinfal was appalling. To have a demon manipulate your mind… it takes a strong person to walk away from that. It’s good to see you… well.” He took a moment to look at her, really look at her, before turning back to his troops to continue their much needed training.

There it was, besides a few joking platitudes from Varric, only one person actually seemed interested in how she was handling everything. Concerned that maybe she wasn’t ‘well.’

Regan could feel it all bubbling up to the surface. It was like something had popped and all the emotion of the past few weeks, from the day they left for Therinfal, came flooding up. She couldn’t walk back through camp like this, holding her head up high as tears visibly welled in her eyes. She turned, walking away from the crowds of people towards the beautiful barrenness of the frozen world before her. She fixed her gaze on the lifeless lake and walked determinedly towards it.

 

* * *

 

Cullen could just see her. Legs swinging as they dangled over the edge of the wooden pier above the frozen lake. Regan was staring down at the unmoving water, massaging her left palm with small circles.

She looked young and old at the same time. Entirely unlike the resplendent woman he had seen leave for Val Royeaux to combat the Chantry. He knew she hadn’t been confident in herself, admitting as much in the war room before she had been talked into going, but until now she had always managed to appear confident when she needed to. Now, just before their biggest and hopefully last battle, she looked worn.

They had pushed her too hard, he realised that now. She wasn’t like them, she hadn’t asked for this and most definitely hadn’t wanted it. She hadn’t joined the Inquisition, it had surrounded her and they had given her no alternative. No choice. No way out.

They had used her… he had used her. He was ashamed with himself. The guilt was overwhelming. And he knew there was nothing he could do. They needed her and she had proven herself to be more than capable of anything they asked. But that didn’t make it fair and it didn’t make it right.

He told himself it would be over soon. That she could return to the life she had before the conclave as soon as the breach was sealed, but he knew it was a lie. If they succeeded she would be remembered as their saviour, an untouchable idol. If she failed… a false prophet, who led them to destruction.

She would always be ‘The Herald of Andraste,’ the hero or the failure.

 

* * *

 

Regan was freezing. The cold crept through her body, surrounding her. slowly she stood up, stretching her legs as she did so and walked back into camp.

She was so tired.

Dusk was starting to fall, but it wasn’t really late yet. She didn’t care. Her whole day had been spent talking to people, making sure they were ok, but she felt so week. She barely lifted her feet as she walked, trudging her way up the stone steps towards the comfort of her cabin.

The orange warmth hit her as Regan opened the door. Sometimes she forgot how sharply cold Haven was until she was inside again. A low fire had been lovingly tended to in her stone fireplace. She made a mental note to thank whoever had been ensuring her comfort. Whether it was their duty or not she appreciated it. She undressed quickly, slipping into her bed.

She was so tired. Today was draining, not physically, although there had been enough days like that lately, but emotionally and tactically.

Regan closed her eyes. Maybe they would successfully seal the breach tomorrow, that Tevinter magister would be sucked in as it closed and this would all go away. And maybe, just maybe, her stupid hand would stop glowing and then she would finally be able to sleep.

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, I should be back to regular posting now.
> 
> Thanks for understanding :)


	9. The Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The breach is sealed

Green light rippled out of her palm, surrounding her hand in an unnatural glow. It was hypnotising.  A ball of pure energy grew suspended just above it before she clenched it away and the light dissipated. Regan was proud. It seemed like she was finally gaining some mastery over her mark. She desperately hoped this would be the last time she would ever have to use it. Maybe it would just fade away and disappear. It would be nice to have her hand be her own again.

Cassandra and Solas were shouting orders at the Templars as they lined up behind her. Regan found it all very distracting. All those eyes watching her… waiting. They had one chance. One surge of combined power. Apprehension and fear were thick in the air. None of them knew what would happen next.

She edged her way forward slowly, trying to appear calm. With a sharp sudden movement, force and light erupted from her hand. It was blinding. It was draining. It was closed. It was easy. Too easy. It didn’t feel right. It should have been bigger… harder… more dramatic. But it wasn’t.

Regan didn’t trust it. She found herself eyeing the remaining wounds in the sky during the journey back to Haven. The breach looked sealed, but dotted in the distance small fade rifts remained. Perhaps it was deceptive, scary things could be simple. it was just a big fade rift. They had needed more strength behind their magic to close it.

 

* * *

 

Laughter and music rained around her as she stood on the stone steps of Haven watching the crowd celebrate below. The celebrations had lasted well into the night. She had kept her leather armour on, her familiar dragon daggers on her back as a small comfort. A link with the past. Regan had been on edge for so long, she no longer knew how to be calm. She didn’t know what to do with herself. Over the din people were cheering her name… no, not her name. They were cheering ‘the Herald.’ It hardly made her feel like joining them.

Cassandra appeared from within the bustling Chantry. The Seeker had been spending much of her time there since their return, compiling details to ensure the breach was genuinely closed. “Solas confirms the heavens are scarred but calm,” she said matter-of-factly “The breach is sealed. We’ve reports of lingering fade rifts. And many questions remain, but this was a victory. Word of your heroism has spread.”

So she was a hero now. She didn’t feel like a hero. She wondered if she would ever be able to just go by her own name again. She missed her name. “Don’t they know I fell into this? Almost literally.” She gave her best smile, but even Cassandra noticed it didn’t meet her eyes.

Pausing for a moment, Cassandra looked at her intently. “Perhaps you’re too close to judge. We needed you. We still do.” Regan thought she sounded almost sad, like perhaps she was tired too. “We’ve yet to discover how the breach came to be, and that is only the most conspicuous of our troubles. Strange days, and more to come.”

Sudden bell ringing and shouting interrupted them. There was no more joy.

Cullen’s voice cut across the screams. “Forces approaching! To arms!” he commanded.

Fear was palpable. People ran in all directions. Soldiers towards their weapons, villagers towards the Chantry, mothers dragging their children behind them. The entire town of Haven had been celebrating together, sharing one moment of peace. Now they were running for their lives.

Regan ran too. Instinctively. As people ran past her she ran forward. Unthinkingly. Toward the gates. Towards the danger.

 

* * *

 

It was eerie at the gate, surprisingly quiet. It stood there in its impressive woodenness. It looked so impenetrable. So guarding and protective. Regan walked over to where Cullen, Cassandra and Josephine had gathered to talk tactics.

“One watchguard reporting. It’s a massive force, the bulk over the mountain,” Cullen reported. He was worried. They all were.

Josephine looked panicked. “Under what banner?” she asked, as if it was the only thought she could cling to.

His reply was grim. “None.”

“None?” Josephine asked incredulously. Regan wanted to laugh. Even she could have told her, you don’t fly a banner when you don’t want people to know where you are from. Whoever was about to arrive on their doorstep was not someone they wanted to meet, and they didn’t want people to know they were here.

The gate began to shake as it was forcefully thudded. Brilliant orange fire shone through the gap whenever it moved.

“If someone could open this, I’d appreciate it.” Called a familiar voice. The man certainly didn’t sound like an angry horde. Regan flew through the door when it dawned on her.

Cullen ran out with her, his sword at the ready. The young man was kneeling on the ground, clutching a wound on his side. Dorian looked terrible.

“I’m here to warn you.” He gasped through the pain. “Fashionably late, I’m afraid.” He slowly pulled himself up, using his staff to steady himself. When he was just about upright his foot slid in the snow, saved at the last minute by Cullen’s catch. “Mite exhausted. Don’t mind me,” Dorian said with a tired smile and a glance at Cullen’s uncertain hand still resting on his shoulder.

Dorian looked at her sharply, as though he just realised who had run out to meet him. “There you are! I came to tell you what happened with the mages at Redcliffe. You’re not going to like it.”

Regan could feel the blood drain from her face. This was not good. She had no time to collect herself before he continued. “They are under the command of the Venatori, in service to something called the ‘Elder One.’ The woman is Calpernia. She commands the Venatori. For that… the Elder One.” Regan’s eyes followed his pointing hand. On the very crest of the mountain, which until today had been their most successful means of defence, stood a female figure dressed in black. As Regan watched, an impossibly tall, hooded man rose from the far side, silhouetted against the sky, lit by the torches of an immense horde. She had no time to analyse further, not that she could see them very well. “They were already marching on Haven. I risked my life to get here first!”

They had to act fast. “Cullen! Give me a plan! Anything!” she demanded.

There was a brief pause before Cullen spoke. A moment of doubt. Of their situation. Of her. “Haven is no fortress. If we are to withstand this monster, we must control the battle. Get out there and hit that force. Use everything you can!” He turned away, focusing his attention on the troops gathering behind them, shouting to them in a rallying cry. “Soldiers! Gather the villagers! Fortify and watch for advance forces! Inquisition! With the Herald! For your lives! For all of us!

 

* * *

 

Regan trembled as she heard the gates lock behind them. She desperately longed to be on the other side. The bravery she had felt moments ago was slipping away. It was the right decision, of course, but that didn’t make her feel any better.

She charged forward, towards their nearest trebuchet. Hopefully, with an aimed projectile they could cause enough of a landslide to stop, or at least slow, the army’s advance.

Varric, Solas and Cassandra were right on her heals. The glow of magic from the advancing mages was getting steadily brighter, closer.

Regan could see the first wave as it crashed over the trebuchet they were approaching. Reaching high behind her she grabbed a dagger in each hand. As she ducked behind some crates she wished she had taken the time to sharpen them.

With a flying leap she landed on the nearest mage, plunging a blade into his neck. Watching his face as he fell she was relieved when she realised she didn’t recognise him.

They were everywhere. Surrounding her. On top of her. It was like they were rising from the ground.

Coloured sparks shocked their way into the air around her.

Regan dodged rapidly. Moving from cover to cover.

Striking from behind and darting away. Briefly, she felt like a coward.

A staff cracked her across the back. A burning glow seared her legs. She stumbled away. Regaining her breath.

There was no time to feel.

A temporary lull took hold.

It wouldn’t last. They had to move. Trebuchet hastily loaded. Winding the charge left them vulnerable. It was a slow and painful progress.

Another wave hit. More nameless faces fell at her hand.

The soldiers on the trebuchet fired the shot. Regan ran on, no time to see if it hit, the south trebuchet in her sights.

Her feet skidded in the snow. Her heart leapt in her chest. The path was longer than she remembered. Longer than when she walked it last, only a short time ago.

Mages rushed them as they ran. Appearing suddenly from the edges. One by one she saw their faces. Red eyes glowing unnaturally. Never blinking, not even at the moment of impact.

The second trebuchet was more surrounded than the first. Inquisition solders fell where they stood, touched only by the sharp pain of magic. Death from a distance.

Regan crept through the shadows. No bravado, no battle cry. Striking from the dark.

Blood made the daggers slip in her hands. She wiped the stickiness on her clothes and carried on. Listening for the sound of a launch.

Relief hit her when it finally came and the last mages within striking distance fell at their feet.

It was short lived.

A great shadow loomed over them. a shriek tore the sky apart. She looked up. She didn’t want to. She had to. A great dragon blocked the sky. Not even the remnants of the breach were visible. Another shriek made them stumble. Cassandra turned to Regan, her eyes wide with shock.

“We can’t face it here! We have to… do something!” Cassandra sounded scared. It stunned Regan more than the dragon.

Something… Regan could only think of one thing. Avoid the dragon.

“Everyone to the gates!” she cried.

The path back seemed shorter this time, like it was once more the path she had been so used to.

Thumping alerted her to Harrit, desperately trying to break down the door of his own smithy, the door blocked by a mound of rubble. Cassandra made short work of it with a barge of her shoulder. He was out almost as soon as he was in. Just essentials, he claimed. He would have been a fool to die for the forge. Harrit was no fool.

She could hear screaming. Not human screaming. Tulloch! Her much loved horse penned in the yard. She ran faster than she knew she could. She opened his gate. He was unharmed but terrified. With a big hug and one last look at his loyal face she set him free. She would never see him again. And she would miss him dearly. She knew that. But he had a chance. A finer chance than any of them had.

She ached as she ran on. With her adrenalin ebbing she started to feel the knocks and hits she’d taken.

Cullen manned the gate, beckoning them in. The last before they slammed definitely shut. Sealing out their attackers. Sealing out those of the Inquisition who would die tonight as heroes, even if they did not yet know it.

Cullen yelled his orders at those who had made it through.

“We need everyone back to the Chantry! It’s the only building that might hold against… that beast!” It was reassuring Cullen thought they had hope, then he continued. “At this point… just make them work for it.” Regan was no longer reassured.

Haven was burning. Panicked cries came from buildings crackling with flame. Venatori and mages flooded in. The sky was red. The air thick with smoke. Regan felt like she couldn’t breathe. Her eyes stung as they watered.

They saved those they could. Survivors amongst the wreckage of their safety. Their unwavering belief in their ‘Herald’ as she saved them filled her with guilt. They cried their thanks while cries of agony died in the throats of others.

 

* * *

 

Soldiers flung the doors of the Chantry open as Regan and the others approached Chancellor Roderick. The elderly man leaned against the stone entryway, beckoning them into its hallowed walls.

“Move! Keep going! The Chantry is your shelter!”

Regan ran past, only to be stopped by a small thump from behind.

Roderick had collapsed, groaning, clearly in great pain. Dorian picked him up, draping his arm around the injured man’s shoulders.

Dorian looked over at her. “A brave man. He stood against a Venatori.”

“Briefly. I am no Templar.” Roderick’s breath was shallow. His voice edged with agony.

They walked, slowly and gingerly, into the Chantry. Dorian eased Roderick into the nearest chair, kneeling by his side with concern. Cassandra, Solas and Varric headed further into the cool dark sanctuary.

Loud hurried footsteps signalled Cullen’s arrival.

 

* * *

 

Cullen saw Regan make her entrance. Covered in streaky blood that was clearly not hers. He guessed she had been wiping her daggers on the cloth of her armour.

He was relieved. He’d lost sight of her after barring the gates to Haven. When he arrived at the Chantry and saw she was not there he was filled with worry.

“Herald!” he called out, knowing she hated the term. This was a battle; they were surrounded by soldiers needing some hope to cling to. Protocol and titles made it seem like they were in control. At least he could give his soldiers that much.

He came to a stop just in front of her, his voice running away with a quickness he didn’t like. “Our position is not good. That dragon stole back any time you might have earned us. There has been no communication. No demands. Only advance after advance.”

Dorian called out before Regan could respond. “There was no bargaining with the mages, either,” he confirmed, “This Elder One takes what it wants. From what I gathered in Redcliffe, it marched all of this way to take your Herald.”

“If you have any idea why he’s after me, I’m all ears.” Regan laughed nervously as she spoke. Guilt swept through Cullen. They all knew why.

“Besides taking the Templars, I’ve no idea what would incur this much wrath. And such a promising start with the landslides.” Dorian chuckled grimly. “If only trebuchets remained an option.”

Cullen wished Dorian would stop interjecting. Then it hit him…

“They are.” Cullen spoke quietly at first, his voice growing with building fatalism. “If we turn the last of them to the mountains above us.”

Regan looked at him like she had never seen him before. “We’re overrun. To hit the enemy, we’d bury Haven.” She didn’t bother to hide her fear this time.

He softened his voice. “This is not survivable _now_. The only choice left is how spitefully we end this.”

Cullen hated the prospect as much as she did. He had led people here. They had trusted them. He had let them all down. He would not see them suffer. Regan would not suffer. Not any more than she already had.

A scoff came from where Dorian was still crouched, tending to Roderick. He stood up deliberately and marched over to where they stood. “Well, that’s not acceptable. I didn’t race here only to have you drop rocks on my head.” Venom tinged every word.

Cullen shot back. “Should we submit? Let him kill us?”

Dorian moved in close, leaning into his face. “Dying is typically a last resort. Not first! For a Templar, you think like a blood mage!”

Cullen was about ready to snap Dorian’s judgemental finger off.

“There is a path,” called Roderick weakly. “You wouldn’t know it was there unless you’d made the summer pilgrimage, as I have. The people can escape. She must have shown me. Andraste must have shown me so I could… tell you.”

 “What are you on about, Roderick?” Regan asked as she walked over to where he lay.

“It was whim that I walked the path. I did not mean to start, it was overgrown. Now, with so many in the Conclave dead, to be the only one who remembers… I don’t know, Herald.” It didn’t escape Cullen that this was the first time Roderick had called her that. “If this simple memory can save us. This could be more than mere accident. _You_ could be more.”

“I can bury an army, stop _them_ from following. But that thing is flying.”

Dorian began to speak again. “You have been the target since you took the Templars. So long as you’re here, the rest may be beneath his notice.”

Cullen was starting to hate it when Dorian spoke. He stood as near to Regan as he dared. “Leaving you no escape.”

The Chantry was full of people, humming with noise, but as he watched her stare at her shoes it was silent to him. He wanted to plead with her. To beg her to try to escape with them, but he knew she wouldn’t. He had seen her blame herself for the predicament they had built her, he had hoped with the sealing of the breach she would find some peace… She would not turn her back and lead whatever this thing was to those who survived. That was just not who she was. No matter how much she denied it she certainly behaved like their ‘Herald’ should.

“Perhaps you will surprise it. Find a way…”

He wanted to take the chance and drag her with them, no matter how much she protested. He wanted to stay. Leaving her alone to fight this battle would be the cruellest thing he had ever done. He would never forgive himself for what he was about to do.

“Inquisition!” he commanded. “Follow Chancellor Roderick through the Chantry! Move!” and with that he turned away to organise the retreat.

From behind he heard Roderick’s weak voice. “Herald… if you were meant for this, if the Inquisition was meant for this, I pray for you.”

He watched for a moment as people began to slip out the back door, before turning back to where Regan stood alone.

“They’ll load the trebuchets. Keep the Elder One’s attention until we’re above the tree line.” She began to make her way to the ornate main doors before he had finished speaking. He called out after her. “If we are to have a chance – if _you_ are to have a chance – let that thing hear you.”

He saw her delicate hand reach up, beginning to push the entry doors open, as everyone else walked away. Filled with sorrow, he did the same. Hanging his head in shame as he heard the doors swing shut behind her.

 

* * *

 

Regan wasn’t entirely alone yet. A small number of the Inquisition forces and some of her companions were with her, to help her make her way to the front. Their plan would not work if she died anonymously in the snow. She wanted to run, follow the others up the path to safety. If the others hadn’t been with her, watching her, she would have, condemning more people to a definite death for the chance to save her own life.

Haven was crawling with mages. The burning orange glow of fire mixed with sparks of magic in a dazzling display of terror. It was warm, so warm. She laughed bitterly thinking about how much she had longed to be warm only days before.

They picked up their speed. Striking down mages they could as they went, but they were no longer a priority. They had to get to the front and load one last trebuchet for her final assault. The mages were no longer a priority, time was. Enough for the people of Haven and the Inquisition to escape. For her companions to make their exit. Enough for Regan to... no. Enough for the others, she would not fool herself into hoping.

Haven’s gates opened for the last time. A group of mages stood in the distance, blocking their path.

Regan shrouded herself in the shadows. Moving in perfect stealth. Creeping up behind the nearest mage. A young man. She grabbed his collar. Plunging her knife deep into his chest. She tried not to, but she looked at his face. Thoughtful eyes, reddening with lyrium stared back. Connor. The boy who doomed Redcliffe. The boy who so desperately wanted to stay in his circle, to keep the world safe from his own hands. The boy who thought himself a monster turned into the very thing he feared the most. Regan lay him down upon the blood stained snow.

Her skin sizzled, burst of light made her feel slowed and heavy. A sharp blow struck her side. There was no time for tenderness.

She swung herself up. Spinning her blades. Slashing his flesh. Pushing him back.

Cassandra knocked him off his feet with her shield. Slicing through him with her sword.

He had been the last of his group. They had to move on, move forward. They needed to be ready and the others needed to be gone before the Elder One arrived.

They did not need to go far. The nearest trebuchet would do.

A Venatori saw them coming. Regan launched herself into the fray.

One by one they fell.

Blades pierced her body.

Magic danced across her skin.

She kept going.

Her constant movement, her unpredictable strikes and retreats, kept her safe from the worst.

She felt no guilt when she saw Inquisition soldiers fall. They would die anyway if they did not make this stand. Many more would be killed regardless.

Wave after wave hit them. Each growing in strength and number. The Elder One was getting nearer.

They loaded and wound the trebuchet any chance they had. Every little turn inching them closer. With one final turn it was ready.

Approaching torches glowed. Faces coming into view. At the helm, Fiona, the head of the mage rebellion, a woman Regan have never quite trusted. It was fitting to see her dying with those she had so misled.

Regan spread a thick green liquid onto her dragon daggers. They had served her well. Her last vial of poison. She had been saving it. Now she knew why.

Mages and Venatori rained down on them.

Their red lyrium glow was stronger, as if they were more advanced in their changes somehow. They fought with a ferocious fervour, maddening to keep up with.

Fiona fell. Regan sought recognition in her eyes, but found none.

Regan ignored the carnage she was inflicting. In the moments when she looked she saw the enemies’ wounds bubble green where she struck them. her poison swiftly taking its toll. Soon they ran red again. No more secret weapons.

The sound of swishing blades and heaving hits made the air feel heavy. She cut through mages and Venatori. If she had been keeping count she would have lost it by the end. Blood mixed with the already slippery snow.

It didn’t matter. Precision didn’t matter. Perseverance did.

Her hands barely kept still.

Cassandra stayed near her side. A final gesture of solidarity as they completed their grim task.

The final mage fell.

A shriek from the sky alerted them to the dragon overhead.

“Move!” Regan cried, standing her ground, watching them as her companions ran. Not one looked back as they took their final chance to escape.

The blast from its fireball knocked Regan from her feet. Her head ached. Each breath was like agony. She pulled herself gingerly to her feet.

Crates and wooden spikes blazed around her.

The dragon bounded up behind her like a war hound off its leash. No matter her doubts there was no turning back. Its roar reached into her head and made her stagger.

A dark hooded figure loomed out of the flames. Impossibly tall. Purpose clear in its stride. The Elder One. “Enough!” his voice was deep and dark. Raspy, like he’d sucked gravel through a straw, “Pretender, you toy with forces beyond your ken. No more.”

Regan spoke with all the false confidence she could muster. “Whatever you are, I’m not afraid!”

“Words mortals often hurl at the darkness. Once they were mine. They are always lies. Know me. Know what you have pretended to be. Exalt the Elder One! The _will_ that is Corypheus! You will kneel.”

“Why are you here? What do you want from us?”

“I ask for nothing. Because it is not in your power to give. But that will not stop me. I am here for the _anchor_. The process of removing it begins now.”

Corypheus’s bony hand shot out, fingers spread wide. An invisible pull surged towards her. the mark in her hand flared to life, spewing forth with an intensity that burned her with pain. She did not utter a sound. She would not give him the satisfaction.

“It is your fault ‘Herald.’ You interrupted a ritual years in the planning. And instead of dying, you stole its purpose.” A turn of his hand increased the energy. “I do not know how you survived. But what makes you ‘touched.’ What you flail at rifts. I crafted to assault the very heavens.”

Regan couldn’t keep the grimace from her face any longer. The pain was so intense she wanted to be sick. Before she could, he clenched his fist. Energy surged towards her, knocking her down.

“And you used the anchor to undo my work! The gall!”

“What is this thing meant to do?” Regan’s voice cracked with agony, energy still coursing through her.

“It is meant to bring certainty where there is none. For you the certainty that I would always come for it.”

He reached down, grabbing her around the wrist of her marked hand and lifted her off her feet. She dangled in the air while he studied her palm.

Her wrist felt like it was about to detach from her arm. Despite the pain, Regan studied him back. His face looked human until the edges, all sharp and jagged. Ruby coloured vaguely glowing shards seemed to be growing from his head. They looked like red lyrium, but surely it couldn’t be. He might have been handsome once. His eyes raged and his mouth sneered. He began to spit words at her once more.

“I once breached the Fade in the name of another. To serve the Old Gods of the empire _in person_. I found only chaos and corruption. Dead whispers. For a thousand years I was confused.” He lifted her higher, his scarred face inches from hers. “No more. I have gathered the _will_ to return under no name but my own. To champion withered Tevinter and correct this blighted world. Beg that I succeed. For I have seen the throne of the gods. And _it was empty_.”

He snarled. Hurling her away. Her back slammed into the wooden struts of the trebuchet. A brief scream of pain escaped her lips. She tried to stand, but she could barely move.

Corypheus stalked towards her, his dragon on his heels. “The anchor is permanent. You have spoiled it with your stumbling.”

To her right she saw a glinting blade. A longsword just out of arms reach. She stretched blindly towards it, willing her broken and bruised body to reach just enough. A tear slipped her eye when her fingers touched its cool metal. Grasping it gave her the conviction she needed. Hauling herself up with all the fluidity she could manage. Leaning on the trebuchet for support she brandished the sword in front of her, breathing heavily.

They were getting closer.

“So be it. I will reign again, find another way to give this world the nation – and _god_ – it requires.”

Over his shoulder something caught her eye. A flare flew skyward. The survivors had made it out.

“And you, I will not suffer even an unknowing rival. You must die.”

Regan stood tall. Holding her sword aloft.

“Your arrogance blinds you. Good to know. If I’m dying… it’s not today!” She lunged to the left, cutting the mechanism’s rope to launch the boulder, sending it soaring towards Haven. Corypheus and his dragon watched its path. With them distracted Regan dropped her sword and ran.

Moving as fast as she could. Adrenalin taking over. Her pain a bitter memory.

She could hear the dragon scream. Its wings flapping into life.

Regan didn’t care. She kept running. Every step gave her a shot.

The ground began to shake under her feet. She spotted an old mineshaft and threw herself down the dark hole.

And then the world crashed around her.

 


End file.
